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BOUGHT  FROM 


Miilhern  Donation 


Ipra  Jtnbermca  §>acra. 


Zyra  Htberntca  g>acra 


COMPILED   AND   EDITED   BY 

Bet),  OH*  Qfjaclltoaine,  D*D»,  &&M 

Incumbent  of  S.  George's  Church,  Belfast,  and 
Canon  of  S.  Patrick's,  Dublin. 


A. 

18 


D. 

78 


TSelfast 

M'CAW,  STEVENSON  &  ORR, 

Upper  Arthur  Street. 

Hontion :  Dublin : 

GEO.  BELL  &  SONS,  HODGES,  FOSTER  &  FIGGIS 

York  St.,  Covent  Garden,  W.C.  Grafton  Street. 


BELFAST  : 

M'CAW,  STEVENSON  AND  ORR, 
61,  UPPER  ARTHUR  STREET. 


YTTO  Awpcov  a 
'EXe^avroSerojv  /xtrcov  AYPA2J 
]§Ta<ra>  Atyvpav  OTTO,, 
'ETTI  (rot,  /xa/cap',  a[JL/3pOTe 
Tove  /cvSiyae  irapOevov. 

Synesii  Hymnus. 


,  Lyre  !  whose  thrill,  in  Erin's  festive  hour, 
Resounded  glad  through  gilded  court  and  hall ; 

Whose  wail,  too,  rose  like  Banshee's  midnight  call 
When  sorrow's  shade  o'erhead  was  seen  to  lower  : 
Once  more  awake,  with  all  thy  trancing  power. 

Awake  !  a  gale  of  gladness  o'er  thee  steals 

Such  as,  in  Spring-tide,  earth  reviving  feels, 
Bidding  to  new-born  life  bird,  brake,  and  flower. 
Give  to  its  soothing  sway  thy  trembling  strings, 

It  breathes  upon  thee  from  the  courts  above ; 
Soft  echoing  the  choir  that  ceaseless  sings 

Around  the  Throne  !     Awake  !  the  Heavenly  Dove 
Hovers  on  high,  peace-fraught,  with  silver  wings 

Bathed  in  bright  dew-drops  from  the  fount  of  Love 
Which  there,  as  crystal  clear,  eternal  springs. 


78O649 


PREFACE. 


JHATEVER  estimate  may  be  formed  respecting  the 
literary  effort  here  given  to  the  Public,  the  Editor 
feels  it  due  to  both  his  readers  and  himself  briefly  to 
state,  in  the  first  instance,  his  main  design  in  the 
undertaking. 

With  such  compilations  before  him  as  the  "Lyra  Anglicana" 
the  "Lyra  Germanica"  and  other  similar  volumes,  partaking  more 
or  less  of  a  national  character,  he  long  since  felt  it  to  be,  so  to 
speak,  a  debt  due  to  the  country  of  his  birth  that  the  production  of 
a  "  Lyra  Hibernica"  should  be  attempted.  Strongly  impressed  by 
this  idea  he  mentioned  the  matter  to  several  literary  friends,  far 
more  competent  to  give  it  effect  than  himself,  and  in  the  enjoyment 
of  more  leisure  than  that  afforded  by  the  intervals  of  time  left  for 
such  a  purpose  by  an  arduous  and  engrossing  occupation.  By  these, 
from  a  variety  of  alleged  reasons,  the  task  was  declined  ;  the  issue 
being,  that  rather  than  the  idea,  if  it  were  worth  realization, 
should  come  to  nought,  he  was,  in  a  manner,  constrained  himself 
to  aim  at  its  accomplishment. 

The  result  is  the  collection  of  poems  that  follows  ;  and  to  these 
prefatory  remarks  a  few  more  words,  respecting  its  inception  and 
accomplishment,  may  not  be  without  interest  to  the  reader.  It  will 
be  perceived  that  the  title  of  the  volume  in  full  is  "  Lyra  Hibernica 
Sacra,"  and  the  addition  of  the  last  of  these  words  will  serve  not 
only  to  designate  with  greater  accuracy  the  nature  of  its  contents, 
but  also  to  indicate  one  main  object  which  the  compiler  had  in  view 
in  undertaking  the  work  now  completed.  He  does  not  hesitate  to 
make  the  avowal  that  this  object  was  a  national  one.  It  was  his 
ardent  desire  to  claim  for  his  country,  and  to  prove  the  justice  of 
the  claim,  an  attribute  which  too  many  would  deny,  namely,  that 
which  may,  perhaps,  be  best  expressed  by  the  term  sacredness. 

The  title  once  assigned  to  Ireland — "Insula  Sanctorum" — was  not, 
as  every  student  of  her  history  well  knows,  an  undeserved  and  empty 
one.  Her  soil,  to  the  remotest  limit,  was  once  occupied  by  temples 
dedicated  to  the  true  God  and  by  houses  of  religion  which  were  at 
once  fountain-heads  of  learning,  and  centres  whence  the  streams  of 
Christian  charity  and  civilization  flowed  to  bless  the  land.  Such 
spots  as  Armagh,  Bangor,  Glendalough,  and  countless  others,  many 
of  them  now  deserted  and  ruinous  heaps,  were  the  nurseries  of 
knowledge  for  thousands  of  native  students,  and  the  resorts  of 
visitants,  not  only  from  the  sister  Island,  but  from  distant  lands,  in 
pursuit  of  secular  learning  and  pure  religious  truth. 


ii  Preface. 

With  a  history  such  as  this,  reaching  back  to  far  distant  ages,  it 
would  be  a  matter  of  surprise  if  traces  of  the  poetic  as  well  as  of  the 
religious  element  were  not  to  be  found  in  the  national  character  of 
Ireland. 

In  addition  to  the  study  of  the  native  language,  itself  a  primitive 
and  copious  one,  that  of  the  languages  of  Greece  and  Rome— 
especially  the  latter — was,  as  is  well  ascertained,  carried  to  a  high 
point  of  cultivation  in  the  ancient  seats  of  learning  in  Ireland. 
Hence  it  was  that  the  composition  of  original  poetry,  as  well  in  the 
Latin  tongue  as  in  that  of  the  country,  formed  so  large  a  portion  of 
the  literature  of  the  bygone  day.  And  what  is  more  germane  to 
the  present  remarks  is  the  fact,  that  even  after  the  destruction  of 
ancient  Irish  MSS.,  from  the  date  of  the  Danish  invasion  and  since, 
quite  sufficient  of  these  now  well-known  and  deservedly-prized 
documents  survive  to  prove  that  poetry  and  religion  were  closely 
allied  in  the  best  and  purest  eras  of  Irish  literature. 

In  illustration  of  this  it  may  suffice  to  name  such  a  MS.  as  the 
"Liber  Hymnorum,"  preserved  in  the  Library  of  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  a  portion  of  which  has  been  edited  by  the  late  lamented 
Dr.  Todd,  or  the  "  Antiphonarium  Benchorense, "  deposited  in  the 
Ambrosian  Library.  Milan  ;  in  both  of  which  are  to  be  found  poems 
in  the  Latin  and  Irish  languages,  dating  from  the  seventh  and 
eighth  centuries  and  even  earlier.  Some  of  these  national  produc- 
tions will  be  found  translated  in  the  following  pages. 

It  is  unnecessary  here  to  enter  on  a  more  lengthened  proof  that 
the  poetic  element  forms  a  strong  and  a  prominent  feature  in  the 
national  Irish  character.  The  bardic  institution,  and  the  place  of 
pre-eminence  and  sacredness  assigned  to  the  bard  from  the  earliest 
historic  period  down  to  the  date  of  Carolan,  the  last  of  that  race, 
sufficiently  illustrate  the  national  enthusiasm  for  the  poet  and  his 
compositions,  generally  adapted  to  music  and  sung  by  himself. 

Should  confirmation  of  these  remarks  be  required,  it  may  be  easily 
found  by  any  one  who  will  visit  the  glens  and  highlands  of  the  North, 
the  West,  or  the  South  of  Ireland,  and  listen  to  the  legends  as  there 
recited,  or  the  national  airs  and  ballads  as  sung  by  the  still  Irish- 
speaking  inhabitants  of  these  localities.  The  "Child  of  Song"  still 
lingers  there  ;  and  the  effects  of  his  strains  on  his  countrymen  are 
to  be  traced  in  many  a  deed  of  daring  and  romance  written  on  the 
national  history. 

These  observations  are,  however,  rather  digressive,  although  not 
altogether  unconnected  with  the  thoughts  which  suggested  them — 
namely,  that  along  with  the  poetic  the  religious  element  may  be 
traced  as  strongly  inscribed  on  the  Irish  character. 

This  statement  is  in  itself  temptingly  suggestive,  although  the 
limits  necessarily  assigned  to  a  preface  enjoin  abstinence  from  any 
enlargement  of  it  in  detail.  A  few  further  remarks,  however,  in 
connection  with  it  may  be  permitted. 

Every  student  of  Irish  history,  for  example,  is  familiar  with  the  fact 
that  in  what  may  be  termed  the  earliest  existing  narrative  of  the  state 
of  Ireland,  at  the  date  of  the  English  Conquest,  the  English  historian, 


Preface.  in 

Giraldus  Cambrensis,  testifies  strongly  and  truly  to  the  skill  of  the 
native  Irish  in  poetry  and  instrumental  music,  especially  instancing 
their  use  of  the  harp,  the  national  instrument.  And  that  this  love 
for  poetry  and  its  sister  art  is  still  strongly  developed  in  the  national 
character,  as  well  as  during  its  past  eras,  will  hardly  be  questioned. 

Whether  this  acknowledged  fact  is  in  any  measure  attributable  to 
the  physical  features  of  Ireland  suggests  a  question  of  interest,  were 
this  the  place  for  its  discussion.  The  verdure  of  her  sod,  the 
blueness  of  her  lakes,  the  purple  of  her  heath-clad  hills,  the  majesty 
of  her  cloud-capped  mountains,  the  solemn  grandeur  of  her  precipi- 
tous sea-cliffs,  the  soft  repose  of  her  valleys,  the  wide  bosoms  and 
torrent  rush  of  her  rivers — these  and  other  features  of  her  scenery, 
may  well  be  taken  into  account  when  the  national  character  of  her 
children  is  under  consideration  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  romance  con- 
nected with  her  unwritten  as  well  as  historically  transmitted  legends. 

In  the  same  connection  may  be  noted  a  circumstance  not  perhaps 
sufficiently  observed,  namely,  that  this  poetic  influence,  has  been 
found  to  infuse  itself  into  the  minds  even  of  some  who  were  but  visitants 
in  ourlsland,  and  not  among  its  natives.  The  productions  of  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  for  instance,  can  scarcely  be  read  without  a  feeling 
that  some  portion  of  the  poetic  spirit,  and  that  reach  of  imagination 
which  pervade  many  of  them,  might  have  been  caught  when  he  was 
a  denizen  of  the  South  of  Ireland.  And  a  still  more  noticeable 
fact  in  connection  with  the  subject  is,  that  the  entire  conception  of 
what  may  be  fitly  styled  the  finest  and  most  purely  imaginative 
poem  in  the  English  language,  the  "Faerie  Queene,"  with  many 
of  its  scenes  and  illustrations,  owe  their  birth  to  Ireland ;  when  the 
gifted  Edmund  Spencer  sojourned  in  Kilcolman  Castle,  amidst  the 
romantic  surroundings  of  the  same  remote  region.  Perhaps  it  may 
be  allowable  to  borrow  an  illustration  here  even  from  Theology, 
while  observing  that  the  English-born  divine,  Bishop  Jeremy  Taylor, 
whose  poetic  prose  productions  have  earned  for  him  the  epithet  of 
the  "  Shakespere  of  divines,"  composed  the  most  brilliantly- 
imaginative  of  his  works,  as  well  as  the  most  exalted  in  devotional 
spirit,  while  his  residence  was  in  the  then  wild  region  bordering  on 
Lough  Neagh,  at  Portmore,  whose  ruins  still  remain  to  mark  a 
spot  deservedly  sacred  in  English  literature.  It  would  be  un- 
pardonable here  to  omit  the  mention  of  another  but  lately 
removed  from  among  us — the  lamented  William  Archer  Butler. 
It  was  by  the  banks  of  the  glorious  queen  of  Irish  rivers,  the 
Shannon,  and  while  musing  among  the  glens  and  woods  of  his 
birth-place  adjoining,  that  this  profound  thinker  and  gifted  writer 
caught  the  inspiration  both  of  poetry  and  philosophy  which  still 
lives  in  his  remains,  and  which  attracts  to  them  the  admiration  not 
only  of  his  own  countrymen,  but  of  the  European  and  American 
continents.  Some  fragments  of  his  poetry  will  be  found  in  the 
following  pages,  suggestive  of  a  regret  that  so  few  of  these  gems 
of  the  sacred  muse  of  our  country  remain. 

To  return,  however,  from  this  digression, — it  was  the  idea 
suggested  by  facts  and  associations  such  as  these  here  dwelt  on 


iv  Preface. 

which  originally  induced  the  Editor  to  aim  at  such  a  compilation  of 
poetry  from  the  pens  of  Irish  authors  as  should  illustrate  the  traits 
of  the  national  character  above  dwelt  on,  and  which  might  with 
justice  lay  claim  to  the  name  of  "  Lyra  Hibernica  Sacra" 

With  such  an  object  before  him,  the  Editor  could  not  but  feel 
conscious  that,  if  his  design  might  be  esteemed  a  national,  it  must 
needs  be  also  an  arduous  one.  However  desirous  to  explore  the 
rich  vein  of  national  poetry,  to  be  found  in  the  ancient  language  of 
Ireland,  and  still  traditionally  preserved,  he  was  debarred  from  this 
pursuit  by  circumstances  too  many  and  too  evident  to  need  particular 
mention  :  and  even  in  the  matter  of  poetry  in  the  English  tongue, 
the  productions  of  Irish-born  authors,  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  was 
to  be  encountered  in  the  effort  to  produce  a  collection  which  might 
deservedly  be  styled  national.  Convinced,  however,  that  the 
attempt  was  a  desirable  and  laudable  one,  he  has  made  it.  and  is 
willing  to  throw  himself  for  indulgence  on  his  fellow-countrymen 
and  readers  in  general,  while  thus  presenting  it  for  their  acceptance. 
Should  it  establish— though  but  imperfectly— for  his  native  land 
a  claim  for  sacredness  of  feeling  and  truth  of  religious  perception, 
as  indicated  in  the  poetry  of  Ireland  any  labour  bestowed  on  the 
effort  will  be  abundantly  recompensed. 

The  table  of  contents,  and  the  names  of  the  authors  selected,  will 
show  that  the  list  is  far  from  being  exhaustive  and  complete.  This 
must  necessarily  be  the  case  when  the  circumstances  under  which 
the  selection  has  been  made  are  taken  into  account.  Little  more 
than  a  twelvemonth  has  elapsed  since  the  work  was  undertaken, 
and  its  commencement  announced  in  one  or  two  literary  journals  in 
England  as  well  as  Ireland.  In  these  notices  contributions  and 
assistance  in  the  way  of  compilation  were  invited  ;  and  the  Editor 
takes  the  present  as  the  most  suitable  opportunity  of  rendering  due 
thanks  to  friends  of  the  undertaking  who  promptly  and  cordially 
responded  to  the  invitation  given. 

The  plan  and  method  pursued  in  bringing  the  "Lyra"  to  com- 
pletion may  be  gathered  from  the  foregoing  particulars  as  to  its 
original  design.  All  productions  of  a  sectarian  or  party  spirit,  as 
regards  religion,  have  been  carefully  excluded  ;  while  politics  of 
every  shade  have  been  designedly,  indeed  of  necessity,  ignored. 
Such  poetical  compositions  alone  which  appeared  to  possess  suffi- 
cient merit  have  been  included,  wholly  irrespective  of  creed  and 
denomination ;  provided  only  that  the  term  sacred  could  be  with 
truth  applied  to  them,  and  that  the  writers  owned  Ireland  as  their 
place  of  birth.  It  is,  therefore,  hoped  that  the  volume  may  fairly 
be  esteemed  catholic  in  the  best  and  truest  sense  of  the  term,  while 
it  claims  to  be  distinctly  and  nationally  Irish. 

It  is  with  the  utmost  satisfaction  the  Editor  is  enabled  to  remark,  that 
while  his  volume  contains  selections  from  the  writings  of  authors  past 
and  present,  numbering  above  eighty,  all  of  them,  in  his  judgment, 
answering  the  character  above  given,  the  whole  will  be  found  to 
breathe  the  spirit  of  that  religion  which,  as  a  Christian  nation,  we 
all  profess  ;  many — indeed  it  may  be  said  all  of  them — bearing  the 


Preface,  v 

stamp  of  heart-utterances,  and  yet  the  productions  of  those  who  are 
outwardly  separated  by  attachment  to  diverse  religious  creeds. 

If  asked  to  account  for  this  feature  of  his  publication,  which  some 
may  think  objectionable  and  a  blemish,  but  which  he  views  in  a 
very  different  light,  he  would  merely  observe  that,  notwithstanding 
the  jarring  of  religious  opinion,  which  has,  alas  !  too  often  and  too 
long  proved  so  fruitful  a  source  of  sorrow  and  suffering  to  Ireland 
as  to  other  lands,  there  is  to  be  found  at  least  one  central  point 
towards  which  all  who  really  deserve  the  Christian  name  are  ever 
found  to  turn.  That  point  is  devout  acknowledgment  of  HIM 
whose  name  we  all  still  bear — love  to  whom,  in  sincerity  and  truth, 
alone  constitutes  true  religion.  That  so  many  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen  and  countrywomen,  sufficiently  gifted  to  produce  the 
poetical  compositions  in  the  "Lyra  Hibernica  Sacra,"  have  also  in 
this  sense  been  found  of  one  mind,  is  to  the  compiler  of  the  volume 
a  source  of  unmingled  thankfulne-s.  He  ventures  even  to  add  that 
the  same  consideration  leads  him  to  the  indulgence  of  the  hope 
that  the  appearance  of  the  volume  at  this  particular  period  of  our 
country's  history  may  prove  in  a  sense  emblematical  of  better  days 
for  our  once-distracted  Island,  and  be  subsidiary,  even  in  the 
smallest  degree,  to  the  advent  of  a  yet  future  day,  when,  as  in  the  I 
time  of  old,  the  dwellers  in  Ireland  shall  be  one  in  faith  as  well  as  in  ] 
nationality. 

If  such  be,  in  the  estimation  of  some,  purely  a  poetic  dream,  it 
may  be  admitted  as  at  least  a  harmless  one.  Its  realization,  how- 
ever, will  by  others,  as  well  as  by  the  writer,  not  perhaps  be  esteemed 
wholly  a  matter  of  impossibility,  should  the  spirit  which  manifests 
itself  in  the  contents  of  the  "Lyra"  be  found  to  spread  among 
Irishmen  to  such  an  extent  as  to  displace  that  of  faction  and  religious 
animosity  still  lingering  among  us ;  and  should  the  various  hues 
in  Ireland's  too  oftentimes  clouded  heavens  assume,  as  her  gifted 
Bard  once  sang — 

"One  arch  of  peace." 

Such  is  the  ardent  desire  and  fervent  prayer  of  the  present  writer, 
and,  as  he  fondly  ^believes  and  hopes,  of  not  a  few  of  his  com- 
patriots. 

To  revert,  however,  from  these  perhaps  too  desultory  remarks  to 
the  plan  and  execution  of  the  work  itself,  it  will  be  observed  that 
the  compilation  seeks  to  embrace  the  writers  of  verse  who  have 
lived  in  and  illustrated  Ireland  by  their  compositions  from  the 
earliest  available  periods.  Accordingly,  the  poems  of  some  of  our 
early  Irish  saints,  as  SS.  Patrick  and  Columba,  appear  in  an  English 
version ;  and  although  a  strictly  chronological  order  has  not  been 
observed,  the  first  place  has  been  given,  for  manifest  reasons,  to 
those  writers.  Next  in  order  will  generally  be  found  such 
writers  of  poetry  in  the  English  tongue  as  flourished  during  that 
era  when  literature,  in  our  country  at  least,  made  any  approach  to 
a  standard  character.  Such  writers  as  Roscommon,  Parnell,  and 
Tate,  bring  us  down  to  the  day  of  Skelton  and  Goldsmith  specimens 
from  whose  poetry,  though  necessarily  brief,  will  be  here  found. 


vi  Preface. 

With  this  passing  remark  as  to  the  chronological  order  in  which 
the  poems  appear,  the  attention  of  the  reader  is  requested  to  the 
division  or  classification  which  has  been  adopted.  This  at  first 
presented  to  the  Editor  some  difficulty.  It  is  obvious  that 
in  perhaps  all  the  compilations  usually  styled  Lyra,  no  precise 
classification  whatever  is  apparent  or  is  attempted.  The  pieces 
therein,  generally  short,  fugitive,  and  lyrical,  are  strung  together 
wholly  irrespective  of  regular  order  or  system.  This  method  has  at 
least  one  recommendation,  inasmuch  as  such  volumes  are  generally 
designed  to  afford  occupation  or  amusement  for  a  leisure  hour,  and 
are  thus  to  be  distinguished  from  regular  and  systematic  collections, 
as,  for  example,  the  works  of  some  individual  author. 

From  considerations,  however,  which  may  be  gathered  from  what 
has  already  been  here  stated,  the  Editor  of  the  present  volume  was 
anxious  to  devise  some  classification  which  while  it  might  embrace, 
in  a  measure  at  least,  a  variety  of  authors  and  subjects  essential  to 
all  such  compilations,  should  also  give  to  the  poems  included  in  it 
the  advantage  of  being  systematically  arranged  and  classified. 

\Yhile  casting  about  for  such  a  plan  of  arrangement,  the  Editor 
happened  to  recall  to  mind  that  division  of  the  earliest  devotional 
Christian  poems,  twice  mentioned  by  the  Apostle  S.  Paul  (Ep.,  v. 
19  ;  Col.,  iii.  16),  and  found  it  exactly  to  suit  his  purpose. 

This  is  the  well-known  division  of  such  writings  into  "  psalms, 
hymns,  and  spiritual  songs,"  and  this  is  the  classification — at  least 
one  closely  akin  to  it — which  is  found  in  the  following  anthology. 

A  little  consideration  will  show  that  this  threefold  head  corres- 
ponds in  a  remarkable  manner  to  nearly  all  the  poetical  compositions 
found  in  the  Sacred  Volume  itself,  both  in  the  Old  Testament  and 
the  Xew  ;  and  may  be  continued  into  the  inspired  poets  of  the  New 
Testament,  as  well  asof  the  earliest  Christian  era.  The  same  remarks 
will,  it  is  believed,  be  found  to  hold  good  when  this  classification 
is  applied  to  the  poetical  compositions  which  follow,  and  which 
may  be  thus  described  : — 

I.  Sacred  Poems. — Comprising   those   of   greater    length,    and 
characterized  by  continuity  of  subject,   or  of  a   didactic   nature. 
Such  poems  will  recall  to  mind  and  be  found  to  resemble  certain  of 
the  psalms  of  the  Old  Testament,  and  notably  those  of  a  historical 
nature. 

II.  Hymns  Proper. — It  is  scarcely  necessary  more  fully  to  specify 
such  compositions  than  as  they  are  generally  understood  and  iden- 
tified with  the  name  itself.     These  are  either  direct  addresses  to  the 
Deity,  or  such  compositions  as  are  specially  adapted  to  religious 
worship  in  public,  in  private,  or  by  individuals. 

III.  Sacred  Lyrics. — This  div;      a  is  designed  to  embrace  gene- 
rally such  minor  pieces  as  are  not  properly  included  under  the 
other  two  heads.     Although  some  of  those  included  in  the  present 
volume  under  this  head  may  not,  perhaps,  answer  the  description 
of  Lyrics  in  the  strict  and  technical  use  of  the  term,  the  reader,  it  is 
hoped,  will  pardon  any  want  of  critical  accuracy  apparent  in  this 
respect,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  convenience  attained  by  its  use. 


Preface.  vn 

Before  concluding  these  prefatory  remarks  the  Editor  feels  it 
expedient  to  state  in  a  few  words,  the  considerations  which  have 
guided  him  in  making  a  selection  from  the  poems  which  were  before 
him,  their  collection  being  completed. 

The  three-fold  division  adopted,  while  it  subserved  the  classification 
of  the  materials  brought  together,  admitted  also  the  adoption,  to  a 
certain  extent,  of  a  chronological  arrangement.  The  reader  will  observe 
accordingly  that  throughout  the  volume,  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
larger  poems,  as  well  as  of  the  Hymns,  and  the  Lyrics,  a  catena  of 
authors  may  be  traced,  from  the  date  of  Ireland's  national  Saint  to 
the  present  day.  The  continuity  of  this  line  of  writers  is,  no  doubt, 
broken  in  many  places,  and  by  causes  too  well  known  to  need 
special  mention.  Intestine  war,  foreign  conquest,  political  struggles, 
and  religious  discord  are  among  these  :  still,  it  is  at  once  instructive 
and  consolatory  to  note  that,  amidst  all  these  disturbing  and  dis- 
tracting elements,  the  national  passion  for  poetry  and  its  associations 
already  referred  to,  survived,  although  its  existence  was  a  struggling 
one,  and  found  its  expression  in  the  strains  of  those  who  lived  and 
wrote  during  that  period. 

It  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  add  here  that  even  in  the  case  of 
those  Irish  verse  writers  who,  like  our  national  lyrist,  employed 
their  talents  chiefly  in  the  cultivation  of  secular  poetry,  a  strain  of 
deep  religious  feeling,  indicative  of  the  national  character,  may  not 
unfrequently  be  traced. 

Something  remains  to  be  said  respecting  the  character  and  quality 
of  the  poems  selected  and  included  in  the  collection.  The  Editor 
was  naturally  desirous  of  making  the  index  of  authors  as  complete 
as  possible,  and  of  including  as  many  of  Irish  birth  as  he  was 
enabled  to  discover.  In  this  it  may  be  feared  he  will  be  judged  by 
some  to  have  but  partially  succeeded.  Doubtless  many  whose 
names  do  not  appear  may  have  lived  and  died,  or  may  now  live,  well 
deserving  a  place  in  such  a  compilation.  Still  he  is  not  conscious  of 
having  designedly  omitted  one  whose  writings,  or  any  of  them, 
might  fairly  demand  admission.  If  any  omissions  have  taken  place, 
they  are  to  be  imputed  solely  to  want  of  information  or  opportunity  for 
successful  research.  Others  who  follow  in  the  path  which  has  been 
here  marked  out  will,  he  hopes,  in  this  respect  be  more  successful. 

So  much  for  the  numerical  question  of  authors  and  their  productions. 
As  regards  the  quality  of  the  poems  here  selected  for  publication — 
in  other  words,  their  absolute  merit — that  is  a  question  to  be  decided 
finally  by  the  general  verdict.  All  he  can  say  is  that  he  hopes  none  of 
the  poems  selected  will  be  deemed  unworthy  of  taking  their  place  in 
such  a  volume,  and  that  the  whole  will  reflect  no  disgrace  on  the  land 
of  its  production.  His  desire  was  that  the  poetry  included  should 
possess  such  a  degree  of  excellence  that  it  might  be  accounted 
standard.  Hence  it  is  that  the  great  majority  of  pieces  from  the 
pens  of  living  writers  are  taken  from  volumes  or  collections  already 
published,  and  which  have  received,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the 
stamp  of  public  acceptance.  A  considerable  number  of  original 
pieces  have  been  kindly  submitted  to  the  Editor  for  insertion,  many 


vin  Preface. 

of  them  possessing  merit  and  a  promise  of  future  success  in  the  writers, 
but  which,  from  the  considerations  just  mentioned,  he  felt  con- 
strained to  refrain  from  including  in  the  "-Lyra."  The  most  suit- 
able medium  for  the  publication  of  poetry  of  this  class,  even  more 
than  ordinarily  meritorious,  is  the  periodical  publication.  Some 
few  poems  of  this  description  may  be  found  in  the  following  pages 
which  the  Editor  felt  warranted  in  selecting,  influenced  by  their 
exceptional  excellence.  These  are,  however,  very  few  ;  all  beside 
may,  he  trusts,  be  looked  on  as  standard  in  the  sense  above  in- 
dicated. 

In  offering  these  observations,  the  writer  would  not  be  understood 
as  in  the  slightest  degree  speaking  disparagingly  of  the  current 
poetical  literature  of  our  day.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  convinced 
that  what  may  be  styled  the  fugitive  poetry  which  is  now  to  be 
found  in  our  periodicals  will  bear  a  favourable  comparison  with 
what  was,  at  no  very  distant  period,  looked  upon  as  standard.  But 
his  path  as  a  compiler  and  editor  did  not  lie  in  this  direction,  and 
this  obliged  him  to  deal  with  his  material  as  has  been  just  mentioned. 
Should  any  person  with  sufficient  leisure  and  suitable  opportunity 
essay  a  compilation  of  the  latter  description,  he  is  persuaded  that 
the  attempt  will  not  be  made  unsuccessfully. 

Only  one  other  remark  is  necessary,  which  applies  to  the  entire 
selection.  While  the  compiler  ventures  to  repeat  what  has  been 
already  stated — that  the  character  of  sacredness  applies  to  all  the 
poems  here  given,  and  that  the  spirit  of  catholicity,  in  its  true  and 
Christian  sense,  breathes  through  the  whole — he  desires  here  to  add 
that  should  the  keen  eye  of  criticism  discover  anywhere  some 
peculiarity  of  creed  or  idiosyncrasy  of  religious  feeling  making  its 
appearance,  he  begs  to  assure  his  readers  that  such  is  there  without 
his  consciousness.  While  responsible  for  the  spirit  and  tendency 
of  the  entire  compilation,  he  desires  that  individual  authors  and 
contributors  may  be  considered  accountable  for  both  expression  and 
sentiment  of  their  own  productions.  He  trusts,  however,  that  this 
personal  safeguard  is  scarcely  necessary,  and  that  all  who  read,  as 
well  as  those  who  have  contributed  to  the  "Lyra"  may  be  found 
one,  in  the  best  and  truest  spirit  of  unity,  and  in  the  bond  of  that 
peace  which  shall  endure  for  ever. 

BELFAST,  Festival  of  S.  Patrick,  1878. 


IX 


Although  the  acknowledgments  of  the  Editor  have  been  already 
tendered,  generally,  to  the  friends  who  have  favoured  his  under- 
taking, he  feels  that  a  special  recognition  of  their  kindness  and 
co-operation  is  due  to  the  following : — 

Rev.  W.  REEVES,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Armagh. 

Rev.  R.  GIBBINGS,  D.D.,  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical  History, 
T.C.D. 

Rev.  R.  TRAVERS  SMITH,  B.D.,  Incumbent  of  S.  Bartholomew's, 
and  Canon  of  S.  Patrick's,  Dublin. 

Rev.  W.  MATURIN,  D.D.,  Librarian  of  Archbishop  Marsh's  Library. 

DENIS  FLORENCE  MACCARTHY,  Esq.,  M.R.'I.A.,  for  valuable  aid 
given  in  connection  with  the  ancient  Hymns  of  Ireland. 

Rev.  C.  P.  GRAVES,  A.M.,  for  assistance  in  collecting  the  poetical 
remains  of  the  late  Rev.  W.  Archer  Butler. 

Professor  E.  DOWDF.N,  Professor  G.  F.  A.  ARMSTRONG,  and  J. 
TODHUNTER,  M.D. ,  for  permission  to  select  from  their  pub- 
lished works,  as  well  a?  for  important  suggestions  and  infor- 
mation. 

Rev.  J.  A.  KERR,  M.A.,  and  Rev.  C.  SCOTT,  M.A.,  for  assistance 
rendered  in  the  compilation. 

JAMES  STELFOX,  Esq.,  of  Southport,  for  correct  information  res- 
pecting the  authorship  of  Hymns,  especially  those  composed 
by  members  of  the  Wesleyan  body. 

Miss  DREW,  London,  for  much  useful  information  of  a  similar  kind. 

S.  FERGUSON,  Esq.,  for  permission  to  employ  the  copyright  vignette 
of  title-page  by  Burton,  as  well  as  for  original  contributions  to 
the  Lyra. 


(ZBrtata* 

PAGE 
17,  Note.— fa  Rev.  J.  W.  Deans,  D.D.,  read  Rev.  J.  W.  Irons, 

D.D. 

254,  Hymn  cxxxvi,  first  line. — for  Might  read  Light. 
284,  Hymn  CLXVII.— for  affection's  read  affliction's. 
301,  302,  303.— *Rev.  T.  V.  Fosbery— remove  * 
307. — For  *Rev.  J.  Andrnvs  read  *Rev.  Samuel  Andrews. 
326,  327,  328.— *  Sir  W.  R.  Hamilton— remove  * 
329. — *Rev.  Abraham  Oulton — remove  * 
341. — For  Hymn  ccxxvn,  omitted  in  error,  see  Appendix. 


I. 


.  Patricii/* 


BIND  to  myself  to-day, 

The  strong  power  of  an  invocation  of 

the  Trinity, 

The  faith  of  the  Trinity  in  Unity, 
The  Creator  of  the  elements. 


2.  I  bind  to  myself  to-day, 

The  power  of  the  Incarnation  of  Christ, 

with  that  of  his  Baptism, 
The  power  of  the  Crucifixion,  with  that  of 

his  Burial, 
The  power  of  the  Resurrection,  with  the 

Ascension, 
The  power  of  the  coming  to  the  Sentence 

of  Judgment. 

3.  I  bind  to  myself  to-day, 

The  power  of  the  love  of  Seraphim, 

In  the  obedience  of  Angels, 

In  the  hope  of  Resurrection  unto  reward, 


*  This  metrical  composition — which  is  referred  to  by  Archbishop 
Ussher — was  first  made  known  to  English  readers  by  the  late  Dr.  Petrie, 
in  his  Memoir  of  Tara,  published  in  1839,  vol.  xviii.  of  the  Transactions 


2  Sacred  Poems. 

In  the  prayers  of  the  noble  Fathers, 
In  the  predictions  of  the  Prophets, 
In  the  preaching  of  Apostles, 
In  the  faith  of  Confessors, 
In  the  purity  of  Holy  Virgins, 
In  the  acts  of  Righteous  Men. 

4.  1  >>imi  to  myself  to-day, 
The  power  of  Heaven, 
'I  he  l:-ht  of  the  Sun, 
The  white'hess  of  Snow, 
The  force  of  Fire, 
The  flashing  of  Lightning, 
The  velocity  of  Wind, 
The  depth  of  the  Sea, 
The  stability  of  the  Earth, 
The  hardness  of  Rocks. 

of  the  Royal  Irish  Academy,  from  the  Liber  Hymnorum,  preserved  in 
the  Library  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  It  is,  undoubtedly,  of  great 
antiquity,  the  Irish  dialect  in  which  the  original  is  written  being  the 
same  as  that  employed  in  the  compilation  of  the  ancient  "Brehon 
Laws."  It  is  given  by  Dr.  Petrie,  in  the  memoir  referred  to,  in 
the  original  and  in  Irish  characters,  with  an  interlineary  Latin 
version,  as  also  in  an  English  translation,  accompanied  by  copious 
learned  annotations.  The  translation  above  given  is  from  the  pen  of 
the  late  Dr.  Todd,  whose  character  and  learning  are  sufficient  guarantees 
for  its  accuracy.  It  is  found  in  his  volume  "6".  Patrick,  Apostle  of 
Ireland"  wherein  he  remarks  respecting  it: — "This  hymn  is  of  the 
nature  of  what  was  called  a  "  Lorica" — that  is  to  say,  a  prayer  to 
protect  those  who  devoutly  recite  it  from  bodily  and  spiritual  danger." 
Several  such  have  been  preserved  in  ancient  Irish  MSS.  still  in 
existence,  and  are  named  in  that  language  Luirech.  One  ascribed  to  S. 
Columba,  and  referred  to  by  Dr.  Todd,  bears  a  close  resemblance  to  that 
of  S.  Patrick.  The  tradition  respecting  its  primary  use  by  the  saint  is 
that  he  recited  it  on  Easter  Sunday,  when  proceeding  to  encounter  the 
druidical  fire  worshippers,  with  their  pagan  king,  Laoghaire,  and  his 
court,  at  Tara,  the  royal  residence.  For  a  full  account  of  this  trans- 
action, and  the  success  attending  k's  mission,  the  reader  may 
be  referred,  among  other  authorities,  to  the  learned  work  of  Dr.  Todd 
already  mentioned.  The  spirited  poetical  version  by  James  Clarence 
Mangan  is  subjoined  to  Dr.  Todd's.  Although  varying  somewhat  in 
its  rendering  from  the  original  and  the  Latin  version — a  matter,  perhaps, 
to  be  regretted — the  whole  is  possessed  of  such  vigour  and  general 
faithfulness  that  it  would  be  unjust  to  its  gifted  author  to  omit  it  from  this 
collection. 


Sacred  Poems. 

5.  I  bind  to  myself  to-day. 

The  Power  of  God  to  guide  me, 
The  Might  of  God  to  uphold  me, 
The  Wisdom  of  God  to  teach  me, 
The  Eye  of  God  to  watch  over  me, 
The  Ear  of  God  to  hear  me, 
The  Word  of  God  to  give  me  speech, 
The  Hand  of  God  to  protect  me, 
The  Way  of  God  to  prevent  me, 
The  Shield  of  God  to  shelter  me, 
The  Host  of  God  to  defend  me, 

Against  the  snares  of  demons, 

Against  the  temptations  of  vices, 

Against  the  lusts  of  nature, 

Against  every  man  who  meditates  injury  to  me, 
Whether  far  or  near, 
With  few  or  with  many. 

6.  I  have  set  around  me  all  these  powers, 

Against  every  hostile  savage  power, 

Directed  against  my  body  and  my  soul, 

Against  the  incantations  of  false  prophets, 

Against  the  black  laws  of  heathenism, 

Against  the  false  laws  of  heresy, 

Against  the  deceits  of  idolatry, 

Against  the  spells  of  women,  and  smiths,  and  druids, 

Against  all  knowledge  which  blinds  the  soul  of  man. 

7.  Christ  protect  me  to-day, 

Against  poison,  against  burning, 
Against  drowning,  against  wound, 
That  I  may  receive  abundant  reward. 

8.  Christ  with  me,  Christ  before  me, 
Christ  behind  me,  Christ  within  me, 
Christ  beneath  me,  Christ  above  me, 
Christ  at  my  right,  Christ  at  my  left, 
Christ  in  the  fort, 

Christ  in  the  chariot-seat,  • 
Christ  in  the  poop. 
A  2 


4  Sacred  Poems. 

9.    Christ  in  the  heart  of  every  man  who  thinks  of  me, 
Christ  in  the  mouth  of  every  man  who  speaks  to  me, 
Christ  in  every  eye  that  sees  me, 
Christ  in  every  ear  that  hears  me. 

10.  I  bind  to  myself  to-day, 

The  strong  power  of  an  invocation  of  the  Trinity, 
The  faith  of  the  Trinity  in  Unity, 
The  Creator  of  the  Elements. 

11.  Domini  est  salus, 
Domini  est  salus, 
Christi  est  salus, 

Salus  tua  Domine  sit  semper  nobiscum. 

James  Henthorn  Todd,  D.D. 


%>.  Patrick's  ^pmn  before  Carat). 

-TIT  TAR  AH  TO-DAY,  in  this  awful  hour, 
**     I  call  on  the  Holy  Trinity  ! 
Glory  to  Him  who  reigneth  in  power, 
The  God  of  the  elements,  Father,  and  Son, 
And  Paraclete  Spirit,  which  Three  are  the  One, 
The  ever-existing  Divinity  ! 

AT  TARAH  TO-DAY  I  call  on  the  Lord,    , 

On  Christ,  the  Omnipotent  Word, 

Who  came  to  redeem  from  Death  and  Sin 

Our  fallen  race ; 

And  I  put  and  I  place 
The  virtue  that  lieth  and  liveth  in 

His  Incarnation  lowly, 

His  Baptism  pure  and  holy, 
His  life  of  toil,  and  tears,  and  affliction, 
His  dolorous  Death — His  Crucifixion, 


Sacred  Poems.  5 

His  Burial,  sacred,  and  sad,  and  lone, 

His  Resurrection  to  life  again, 
His  glorious  Ascension  to  Heaven's  high  Throne, 
And  lastly  His  future  dread 

And  terrible  coming  to  judge  all  men — 
Both  the  Living  and  Dead 

AT  TARAH  TO-DAY  I  put  and  I  place 

The  virtue  that  dwells  in  the  Seraphim's  love, 
And  the  virtue  and  grace 

That  are  in  the  obedience 
And  unshaken  allegiance 

Of  all  the  Archangels  and  angels  above, 
And  in  the  hope  of  the  Resurrection 
To  everlasting  reward  and  election, 
And  in  the  prayers  of  the  Fathers  of  old, 
And  in  the  truths  the  Prophets  foretold, 
And  in  the  Apostles'  manifold  preachings, 
And  in  the  Confessors'  faith  and  teachings, 
And  in  the  purity  ever  dwelling 

Within  the  immaculate  Virgin's  breast,* 
And  in  the  actions  bright  and  excelling 

Of  all  good  men,  the  just  and  the  blest 

AT  TARAH  TO-DAY,  in  this  fateful  hour, 

I  place  all  Heaven,  with  its  power, 

And  the  sun,  with  its  brightness, 

And  the  snow,  with  its  whiteness, 

And  fire,  with  all  the  strength  it  hath, 

And  lightning,  with  its  rapid  wrath, 

And  the  winds,  with  their  swiftness  along  their  path, 

And  the  sea,  with  its  deepness, 

And  the  rocks  with  their  steepness, 

And  the  earth,  with  its  starkness, 
All  these  I  place- 
By  GOD'S  almighty  help  and  grace, 

Between  myself  and  the  Powers  of  Darkness. 

This  is  unquestionably  a  mistranslation  of  the  original,  viz. — 

"  In  castitate  Sanctarum  Virginum." 
"  In  the  purity  of  Holy  Virgins."  (f.  H.  Todd).—En. 


Sacred  Poems. 

AT  TARAH  TODAY 
May  GOD  be  my  stay  ! 
May  the  strength  of  GOD  now  nerve  me  ! 
May  the  power  of  GOD  preserve  me  ! 
May  GOD  the  Almighty  be  near  me  ! 

May  GOD  the  Almighty  espy  me  ! 
May  GOD  the  Almighty  hear  me  ! 

May  GOD  give  me  eloquent  speech ! 
May  the  arm  of  GOD  protect  me  ! 
May  the  wisdom  of  GOD  direct  me  ! 

May  GOD  give  me  power  to  teach  and  to  preach  ! 


May  the  shield  of  GOD  defend  me  ! 
May  the  host  of  GOD  attend  me, 

And  ward  me, 

And  guard  me, 

Against  the  wiles  of  demons  and  devils, 
Against  the  temptations  of  vices  and  evils, 
Against  the  bad  passions  and  wrathful  will 

Of  the  reckless  mind  and  the  wicked  heart, 
Against  every  man  who  designs  me  ill, 

Whether  leagued  with  others  or  plotting  apart  ! 

IN  THIS  HOUR  OF  HOURS, 

I  place  all  those  powers 
Between  myself  and  every  foe, 

Who  threatens  my  body  and  soul 

With  danger  or  dole, 
To  protect  me  against  the  evils  that  flow 
From  lying  soothsayers'  incantations, 
From  the  gloomy  laws  of  the  Gentile  nations, 
From  Heresy's  hateful  innovations, 
From  Idolatry's  rites  and  invocations. 
Be  those  my  defenders, 

My  guards  against  every  ban — 
And  spell  of  smiths  and  Druids,  and  women ; 
In  fine,  against  every  knowledge  that  renders 

The  light  Heaven  sends  us  dim  in 
The  spirit  and  soul  of  Man  ! 


Sacred  Poems. 

MAY  CHRIST,  I  PRAY, 
Protect  me  to-day 
Against  poison  and  fire, 
Against  drowning  and  wounding: 
That  so,  in  His  grace  abounding, 
I  may  earn  the  Preacher's  hire  ! 

CHRIST,  as  a  light, 

Illumine  and  guide  me  ! 

CHRIST,  as  a  shield,  o'ershadow  and  cover  me  ! 
CHRIST  be  under  me  !     CHRIST  be  over  me  ! 

CHRIST  be  beside  me 

On  left  hand  and  right  ! 
CHRIST  be  before  me,  behind  me,  about  me  ! 
CHRIST  this  day  be  within  and  without  me  ! 

CHRIST,  the  lowly  and  meek, 

CHRIST,  the  All-Powerful,  be 
In  the  heart  of  each  to  whom  I  speak, 
In  the  mouth  of  each  who  speaks  to  me  ! 
In  all  who  draw  near  me, 
Or  see  me  or  hear  me  ! 


AT  TARA  TO-DAY,  in  this  awful  hour, 

I  call  on  the  Holy  Trinity  ! 
Glory  to  Him  who  reigneth  in  power, 
The  GOD  of  the  Elements,  Father,  and  Son, 
And  Paraclete  Spirit,  which  Three  are  the  One, 
The  ever-existing  Divinity  ! 

Salvation  dwells  with  the  Lord, 

With  CHRIST,  the  Omnipotent  Word. 

From  generation  to  generation 

Grant  us,  O  Lord,  thy  grace  and  salvation  ! 

James  Clarence  Mangan. 


8  Sacred  Poems. 

Cbe  ^>pmn  of  S.  Colum&a.* 

"  ALTUS  PROSATOR." 
ii. 

4JT  HE  Father  exalted  :  ancient  of  days,  unbegotten, 

^     Without  or  beginning  or  origin  :  ever-existing, 

Is  and  shall  be  :  to  infinite  ages  of  ages. 

With  whom  is  Christ,  sole  begotten  :  with  whom,  too,  the 

Spirit, 

Co-eternal  in  Glory  :  in  Godhead  alike  everlasting. 
We  preach  not  three  Gods  :  One  GOD  we  proclaim,  and  One 

only — 
Saving  our  faith  in  Three  Persons  :  eternally  glorious. 

Creator  is  He  of  blest  Angels  :  Archangels,  and  Orders, 
Principalities,  Thrones  :  of  Powers,  and  also  of  Virtues  ; 
Lest  goodness  and  majesty  lodged  in  the  Trinity  :  might  be 

inactive. 
Boundless   in  functions   of  might  :  and   in   beauteousness 

endless, 

Thus  manifesting  itself :  employed  in  proclaiming 
Graces  celestial  and  vast  :  in  boundless  expression. 

Down  from  the  summit  of  Heaven  :  of  order  Angelic, 
Down  from  effulgence  of  brightness :  from  loveliness  peerless, 


*  This  composition,  like  that  which  precedes  it,  is  found  in  the  Liber 
Hymnorum,  and  is  given  by  Dr.  Todd,  in  the  second  volume  of  his  extracts 
from  that  valuable  collection  edited  by  him  for  the  "Irish  Archaeological 
and  Celtic  Society,"  in  1869.  Although  styled  The  Hymn  of  S. 
Columba,  as  is  the  Lorica  of  S.  Patrick,  both  are  here  classed  among 
"Sacred  Poems"  of  greater  length.  It  is  believed  that  most  readers 
will  agree  in  the  propriety  of  this  classification.  The  version  above 
given  is  nearly  verbatim,  that  of  Dr.  Todd,  which  accurately  conveys 
the  sense  of  the  original.  The  slight  alteration  ventured  on  by  the 
Editor,  in  reducing  it  to  the  form  of  English  hexameters,  was  for  the 
purpose  of  lending  to  it  a  measured  or  rhythmical  character. 


Sacred  Poems.  9 

Fell   Lucifer,    whom   GOD   had  made :   pride   proving   his 

downfall, 

And  with  him  the  angels  apostate  :  in  like  ruin  mingled, 
He  of  vain-glory  the  author :  of  obstinate  envy ; 
Though  steadfast  remaining  the  rest :   in  dominion  celestial. 

The  Dragon  most  potent  and  foul  :  terrific  and  ancient, 

Serpent  of  slimy  deceit  :  excelling  in  wisdom 

Every  beast  of  the  earth  :  of  force  full  and  fierceness  ; 

He  with  himself  downward  drew :  of  bright  stars  the  third 

part 

Into  the  regions  infernal  :  and  dark  prisons  diverse, 
Erring  deserters  of  light :  headlong  cast  by  the  traitor. 

In  foresight  deep  the  Most  High  :  had  poised  the  harmonious 

structure, 
The  heavens  above  the  earth  :  had  founded  the  sea  and  the 

waters, 
Also  the  upspringing  grasses  :  the  shrubs,  with  their  twining 

tendrils ; 
The  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars  :  the  fire,  and  all  things 

needful ; 

Birds,  with  fishes,  and  cattle  :  beasts  and  all  living  creatures ; 
Last  He  created  primal  man  :  ruler  of  all  around  him. 

The  stars  that  brightened  the  ether  :  made  all  by  one  act  of 

Godhead, 

Structure  amazingly  great :  united  with  angels  in  praising 
The  Lord  of  the  Mass  immense  :  Architect  great  of  the 

heavens. 

Glorious  their  worship  and  meet :  their  praise  everlasting. 
All    these,    with    noble   consent :    thanks   to   their    Maker 

rendered, 
In  free  and  heaven-taught  love  :  not  from  endowment  of 

nature. 

Both  our  first  parents  thus  :  tempted,  assailed,  and  taken, 
The  Devil  a  second  time  falls  :  with  his  satellites  banded  ;    . 
Horror  their  aspect  filled  :  woful  the  sound  of  their  flight. 


io  Sacred  Poems. 

Well  may  frail  man,  too,  fear  :  well  may  he  sink  in  dismay, 
Unable,  with  bodily  vision  :  to  look  on  such  terrible  things. 
There  are  the  fallen  ones  bound  :  tied  in  their  prison-house 
fearful. 

He,  too,  their  Chief,  in  the  midst :  thus  by  the  Lord  is  cast 
down, 

While  the  wide  space  of  the  air  :  darkly  and  densely  is 
filled 

With  the  tumultuous  crowd  :  satellites  set  in  rebellion, 

Hid  from  man's  sight  lest  he  :  pursue  their  example  and 
crimes ; 

Neither  encompassing  wall  nor  screen  :  their  iniquity  hiding. 

While  to  all  is  proclaimed  their  sin  :  even  the  soul's  forni- 
cation. 

Up  from  the  wintry  floods  :  the  clouds  their  moisture  carry, 
Up  from  the  threefold  depths  of  the  sea :  from  ocean  regions, 
To  the  climates  of  heaven  above  :  in  azure  whirlwinds 
Destined  to   render  fruitful :    crops,    and   vineyards,    and 

orchards, 

Driven  along  by  the  winds  :  issuing  forth  from  their  treasures, 
Erupting  still  in  their  turns  :  the  pools  of  the  ocean. 

The  tottering  glory  of  tyrants  :  the  passing  and  present 
Mightiest  kings  of  the  world  :  set  aside  by  God's  judgment, 
Lo  !  the  just  doom  of  the  giants  :  to  groan  beneath  waters, 
Great  is  the  torment  :  the  burning  of  fire  and  consumption, 
Plunged  in  the  swelling  Charybdis  :  drowned  in  Cocytus, 
In  Scylla  o'erwhelmed  :  by  waves  and  by  rocks  dashed  to 
pieces. 

Ever  the  Lord  drops  down  the  waters  :  bound  in  the  clouds, 
Lest  they   should  all  break  forth  at  once  :  their   barriers 

bursting, 

And  from  thin  streams  of  fertility  :  gradual  flowing, 
As   from   the   wedders   of    kine  :    throughout   the   earth's 

regions, 

Cold  alternate  and  warm  :  at  different  seasons, 
Rivers  that  never  fail  :  are  constantly  flowing. 


Sacred  Poems.  n 

By  the  power  divine  of  Great  GOD  :  are  constant  sustained 
The  globe  of  the  earth  :  and  the  circle  which  bounds  the 

abyss, 

The  strong  hand  of  GOD,  the  Omnipotent :  ever-supporting, 
On  its  firm  column,  the  same  :  as  beams  of  a  building; 
Promontories,  also,  and  rocks  :  on  solid  foundations 
Firm,  and  immovably  fixed  :  and  strengthened  their  bases. 

To  no  man  seemeth  it  doubtful  :  Hell  lies  in  lowest  places. 
Region  of  darkness  and  worms  :  haunt  of  dreadful  creatures, 
Where  is  consuming  fire  :  blasting  with  flame  consuming, 
Where  are  the  groans  of  men  :  weeping  and  gnashing  of 

teeth, 

Where  is  the  terrible  wail  ever  heard  :  of  ancient  Gehenna, 
Where  is  the  horrid  consumption  of  thirst  :  and  anguish  of 

hunger. 

Below  the  earth,  as  we  read  :  'tis  known  there  are  dwellers, 
Often  in  prayer  whose  knee  :  to  the  Lord  is  bent. 
Impossible  still  it  is  :  to  unroll  the  book  written, 
Sealed  with  its  seven  seals  :  with  warnings  abounding, 
Which  opened  yet  He  hath  :  and  so  became  victor, 
Fulfilling  the  glory  prophetic  :  that  waits  on  His  advent. 

That  Paradise  at  the  beginning  :  was  by  the  Lord  planted, 
Read  we  in  Genesis  written  :  record  most  noble  ; 
From  whose  gushing  fountain  head  :  four  rivers  are  flowing, 
And  in  whose  flowery  midst  :  is  placed  the  Tree  of  Life, 
Whose  leaves  bringing  health  to  the  Gentiles  :  fail  not  for 

ever, 
Unspeakable  are  whose  joys  :  and  also  abundant. 

Who  hath  ascended  to  Sinai  :  God's  chosen  mountain  ? 
Who  its  thunders  hath  heard  :  beyond  measure  resounding 
With  the  clang  of  the  trumpet  terrific  :  fearfully  pealing  ? 
Who  the  lightnings  hath  seen  :  wild  flashing  around  ? 
Who  the  lamps  and  the  darts  :  the  rocks  rent  and  falling  ? 
Who  but  Moses  :  the  judge  of  the  people  of  Israel  ? 


12  Sacred  Poems. 

The  day  of  the  Lord,  King  of  Kings  :  most  righteous  is 

nigh; 

A  day  of  wrath  and  vengeance  :  of  darkness  and  cloud  ; 
A  day  of  thunders  astounding  :  awful  and  mighty  ; 
A  day  of  trouble  and  anguish  :  sadness  and  grief; 
When  shall  be  ended  :  the  passionate  love  of  woman, 
Ended  the  strife  of  man  :  and  the  last  of  this  world. 

Trembling  we  all  shall  stand  :  at  the  Lord's  judgment  seat, 
Then  an  account  shall  we  render  :  of  all  our  deeds, 
Beholding  also  our  crimes  :  spread  forth  in  our  sight, 
As  well  as  the  book  of  conscience  :  laid  open  before  us. 
Then  shall  break  forth  :  most  bitter  weeping  and  sobs — 
The  day  for  obedience  gone  :  the  call  for  life-service  with- 
drawn. 

The  trump  of  the  great  Archangel :  its  wonders  proclaiming, 
The  strongest  cloisters  shall  burst  :  wide  open  the  tombs 

shall  stand, 

Rent  by  the  freezing  cold  :  that  chills  this  earth  of  ours. 
Then  bone  shall  gather  to  bone  :  and  joint  to  joint, 
As  meets  the  ethereal  soul  :  with  the  body  again, 
Returning  to  tenant  the  mansion  :  where  erst  it  dwelt. 

Christ,  the  most  mighty  Lord  :  from  heaven  descending. 
Glorious  the  banner  :  signed  with  the  cross  shall  shine ; 
Stricken  the  two  chief  lights  :  in  the  heaven  o'erhead, 
The  stars  to  the  earth  shall  fall  :  as  fruit  from  the  fig  tree. 
Earth's  compass   shall  be  as  the  blast  :   of  a  furnace  that 

burns. 
Then  shall  the  waning  hosts  hide  themselves  :  in  the  caves  of 

the  mountains. 

High  shall  the  chanted  hymns  swell :  all  ceaseless  resounding, 
Sung  by  the  thousands  of  angels  :  in  chorus  rejoicing, 
Joined  by  the  living  ones  four  :  whose  eyes  are  unnumbered, 
Also  the  elders  :  the  twenty  and  four  on  thrones  seated, 
All  'neath    the    feet  of  the    Lamb    of  GOD  :  casting  their 

crowns, 
Praising  the  Trinity  ever  :  in  endless  repeatings. 


Sacred  Poems.  13 

Fiercely  indignant :  the  fire  shall  devour  the  opposers, 

All   who   refuse   to    believe  :   that    Christ  comes  from  the 

Father ; 

But  we,  up  borne,  shall  fly  :    forthwith  to  meet  Him, 
And  with  him  for  ever  shall  be  :  among  orders  celestial, 
Eternal  to  each  the  reward  :  attained  by  deserving, 
Thus  to  remain  in  His  glory  :  for  ever  and  ever. 

y.  H.  Todd  (versified  by  Editor). 


a  0olis  ottus  CatDine; 


4t"ROM  the  far  rising  of  the  sun 
•J'      To  where  his  utmost  course  is  run, 
Sing  we  the  Christ,  of  Virgin  born, 
With  kingly  praise  His  name  adorn. 

Though  from  Eternity  His  sway, 
Our  flesh  He  made  His  mean  array ; 
Redeeming,  thus,  from  endless  death, 
The  race  that  owed  to  Him  its  breath. 

The  spotless  Virgin's  favoured  womb 
Of  Grace  Divine  becomes  the  home  ; 
And  wonders,  passing  human  thought, 
Unknown  and  secret,  there  are  wrought. 

*  The  selections  here  given  from  the  writings  of  the  ancient  poets  of 
Ireland  would  be  manifestly  incomplete  without  some  extract  from  those 
of  Sedulius.  That  Ireland  may  justly  claim  as  her  own  this  illustrious 
theologian  and  poet  there  can  be  little  doubt,  the  epithet  "Scotus  Hyber- 
nensis"  being  given  to  him  in  the  ancient  manuscripts  and  earliest  printed 
editions  of  his  works.  He  flourished  in  the  middle  of  the  fifth  century, 
and  was  a  voluminous  prose  writer,  as  well  as  an  accomplished 
poet.  It  may  be  remarked  that  this  author  should  be  carefully  dis- 
tinguished from  another  of  the  same  name,  with  whom  our  countryman 
is  sometimes  confounded.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the  prose 
works  of  Sedulius  have,  in  late  years,  become  little  known,  and  his 
poetical  productions  very  difficult  of  access.  The  only  complete 
collection  of  his  poems  which  has  come  within  the  reach  of  the  Editor  is 


14  Sacred  Poems. 

The  maiden's  bosom,  pure  abode, 
Becomes  a  temple  meet  for  God ; 
An  earthly  partner  all  unknown — 
THE  WORD  her  offspring  proves  alone. 

The  mother's  thankful  arms  enfold 
The  Babe  whom  Gabriel  had  foretold ; 
Whom,  though  unborn,  with  prophet's  eye, 
The  Baptist  John  could  yet  descry. 

In  manger-shed,  amidst  the  kine, 
All  lowly  lies  the  Babe  Divine ; 
Milk  from  a  mother's  breast  is  given 
To  Him  who  feeds  the  birds  of  heaven. 


one  embodied  in  a  rare  edition  of  mediaeval  Latin  poets  in  Archbishop 
Marsh's  Library,  Dublin.  This  volume  is  from  the  Aldine  press,  dated 
Venice,  1 502.  A  tolerably  faithful,  but  coarsely  printed  collection  of  the 
poems  of  our  author,  dated  Edinburgh,  1701,  exists  in  the  same  library. 
The  poem  here  reproduced  is  from  the  volume  above  indicated,  where 
it  is  found  with  the  following  title  : — "  C.  Sedulii  Presbyteri  Hymnus 
de  Christo,succincte  ab  Incarnatione  usque  ad  Resurrectionem"  Prefixed 
to  this  is  the  following  " Sedulii  Epigramma"  : — 

Hsec  tuse  perpetuae  quse  scripsi  dogmata  vitse 
Corde  rogo  facias  Christe  manere  meo  : 

Ut  tibi  quse  placeant  tete  favente  requirens 
Gaudia  coelorum  te  duce  Christe  metam. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  remarkable  poem  is  the  production  of  the 
Irish  Sedulius,  and  consists  of  a  continuous  historical  record  of  the  prin- 
cipal events  in  the  life  of  our  Lord.  It  is  alphabetical,  and  numbers  23 
stanzas,  each  commencing  with  one  of  the  letters  from  A  to  Z.  Two  por- 
tions of  the  Hymn  of  Sedulius  have  been  incorporated  in  the  Hymns  of  the 
Roman  Breviary,  each  consisting  of  a  few  stanzas  of  the  original.  The 
former  of  these  is  entitled  De  Nativitate  Domini,  commencing  with  the 
words  with  which  the  original  begins — A  solis  ortus  cardine.  The  latter  is 
headed  De  Epiphania  Domini,  and  commences  with  the  words  "  Hostis 
ff erodes  impie.  Both  these  are  favourite  hymns,  that  on  the  Nativity 
having  been  more  than  once  translated  into  English.  Considering  it  a 
matter  of  interest  and  importance  that  the  entire  should  become  more 
generally  known,  the  Editor  has  attempted  an  English  version,  the  only 
merit  to  which  this  can  lay  claim  being  its  close  accordance  with  the 
original  in  the  metre  as  well  as  in  the  sense. 


Sacred  Poems.  15 

The  heavenly  choir  their  anthem  raise — 
Angels  unite  their  Lord  to  praise  ; 
While  to  the  shepherds  of  the  field 
The  God  Incarnate  is  revealed. 

Thou,  hostile  Herod,  whence  those  fears  ? 
Is  it — that  Christ  on  earth  appears  ? 
As  though  He  grasped  at  earthly  things, 
Who  rules  o'er  all,  the  King  of  Kings  ! 

The  Eastern  Magi,  from  afar, 

Eager  pursue  the  guiding  star ; 

Led  by  its  beam,  true  light  they  seek, 

And  own  their  God  with  offerings  meek. 

The  matron  crowd  beholds,  aghast, 
To  earth  its  infant  offspring  cast ; 
Thus,  through  the  tyrant's  rage,  doth  rise 
To  Christ  a  spotless  sacrifice. 

Where  flows  the  river's  cleansing  flood 
The  Lamb  of  God  all  meekly  stood, 
By  His  obedience  to  atone 
For  our  transgressions — not  His  own. 

His  wondrous  acts  for  Christ  have  won 
His  Name— the  Eternal  Father's  Son ; 
Before  His  glance  disease  hath  fled, 
To  life  come  forth  th'  awakened  dead. 

The  water  owns  a  power  Divine, 
And,  conscious,  blushes  into  wine ; 
Its  very  nature  changed,  displays 
The  power  Divine  that  it  obeys. 

Lo  !  the  centurion  comes  to  crave 
Recovery  for  his  dying  slave  ; 
Such  faith  can  pitying  answer  claim, 
And  quench  e'en  fever's  scorching  flame. 


1 6  Sacred  Poems. 

See  Peter  walk  the  swelling  wave, 

His  Lord's  right  hand  outstretched  to  save  ; 

The  path,  which  nature's  law  denies, 

To  trusting  faith  still  open  lies. 

Four  days  within  the  noisome  grave 

Lay  Lazarus — He  comes  to  save. 

Rent  by  His  Word  are  death's  strong  chains, 

As  life  and  light  its  prey  regains. 

Deep  crimson  stains,  a  noxious  flood, 
Pollute  the  garment  dyed  with  blood  , 
A  pleading  suppliant  draws  nigh. 
And  straight  the  flowing  stream  is  dry. 

A  sufferer,  palsied  in  each  limb, 
Pours  forth  his  earnest  prayer  to  Him  ; 
No  pause  ensues,  no  long  delay — 
Instant  he  bears  his  couch  away. 

Now  hath  the  traitor  basely  sold 
His  Master,  for  the  bargained  gold ; 
The  kiss  of  peace  he  dares  impart, 
While  treason  lurks  within  his  heart. 

Vainly  the  JUST,  the  HOLY  pleads, 
His  back  beneath  the  dread  scourge  bleeds  ; 
Nailed  to  the  Cross,  on  either  hand, 
The  vilest  of  the  robber  band. 

The  Sabbath  dawns,  and  to  the  tomb, 
With  unguents  rare,  fond  women  come  \ 
To  whom  the  angel  voice  is  sped, 
"  Seek  not  the  living  'midst  the  dead  !" 

Now  raise  we  all  the  joyous  strain, 
With  sweet,  triumphant,  fond  refrain ; 
The  Christ  hath  conquered  !     Death  and  Hell 
Redemption's  mighty  victory  swell ! 


Sacred  Poems.  17 

Quenched  is  the  dragon's  fiery  zeal, 
Crushed  is  the  Lion  neath  His  heel ; 
To  Heaven  ascending,  thou  hast  trod 
The  path  of  glory,  Son  of  God. 

*  Canon  Macllwaine. 


ftae,* 

THOMAS  A  CELANO. 

IV. 

?T^  AY  of  ire,  woe  worth  that  day  ! 
*^     Earth  in  dust  shall  flee  away — 
Thus  both  Seer  and  Sibyll  say. 

Oh  !  what  trembling  then  shall  be, 
When  the  Judge  appeareth  !  He 
Every  hidden  thing  shall  see. 

Dread  the  trumpet's  voice  shall  sound 
Through  the  tomb's  repose  profound, 
Bidding  all  the  Throne  surround, 

*  A  few  explanatory  words  may  be  allowed  for  the  introduction  here 
of  the  above  version  of  the  "Dies  Ira"  Archbishop  Trench  most 
justly  assigns  to  it  "a  foremost  place  among  the  masterpieces  of  ancient 
song,"  adding  the  following  remarks — "  It  is  not  wonderful  that  such  a 
poem  as  this  should  have  continually  allured,  and  continually  defied 
translaters."  Jeremy  Taylor,  in  a  letter  to  John  Evelyn,  suggests  to 
him  that  he  should  make  a  version  of  it: — "I  was  thinking  to  have 
begged  of  you  a  translation  of  that  well-known  hymn,  Dies  irce,  dies  ilia, 
which,  if  it  were  a  little  changed,  would  make  an  excellent  divine 
song."  {Sacred  Latin  Poetry,  p.  300).  Evelyn,  as  the  Archbishop 
observes,  did  not  comply  with  the  request,  but  several  versions  in 
English  exist,  and,  among  them,  the  partial  translation  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  universally  known.  The  latest,  perhaps,  is  that  by  the  Rev.  J.  W. 
Deans,  D.D.,  in  Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern.  What  induced  the  Editor, 
at  the  first,  to  assign  a  place  to  it  in  this  collection  was  the  fact  that 
among  the  earliest,  if  not  the  very  earliest,  translations  of  the  entire 
poem  into  English  verse  is  that  of  the  Earl  of  Roscommon  (born  1633, 
B 


1 8  Sacred  Poems. 

Death  and  nature  sink  with  fear, 

As  Creation  draweth  near, 

From  the  Judge  her  doom  to  hear. 

See  !  the  Written  Word  outspread, 
Witnessing  'gainst  quick  and  dead, 
Shall  before  the  world  be  read. 


When  the  Judge  His  seat  hath  ta'en, 
All  concealment  shall  be  vain — 
Nothing  unavenged  remain. 

Wretch  !  what  then  shall  be  my  plea  ? 
Who  shall  intercede  for  me  ? 
Scarce  the  righteous  saved  shall  be. 

died  1684),  included  in  his  works.  That  nobleman  being  of  Irish  birth, 
it  was  considered  that  his  rendering  of  the  Italian  poet's  production  might 
fairly  claim  a  place  in  a  Lyra  Hibernica.  Further  consideration,  how- 
ever, induced  the  writer  to  substitute  the  translation  given  above,  as 
being  more  literal,  and,  as  such,  more  likely  to  afford  a  correct  idea, 
and  thus  to  do  more  justice  to  the  original.  A  few  stanzas  of  the  older 
version,  taken  from  the  commencement  and  the  close,  will  illustrate 
these  remarks. 

The  day  of  wrath — that  dreadful  day — 

Shall  the  whole  world  in  ashes  lay —  From  that  insatiable  abyss, 

As  David  and  the  Sibyl  say.  Where  flames  devour  and  serpents  hiss, 

Promote  me  to  Thy  seat  of  bliss. 
What  horror  will  invade  the  mind, 

When  the  strict  Judge,  who  would  be  Prostrate,  my  contrite  heart  I  rend, 

kind,  My  God,  my  Father,  and  my  Friend, 

Shall  have  few  venial  faults  to  find.  Do  not  forsake  me  in  the  end. 

It  will  not  be  taken  amiss,  it  may  be  hoped,  that  another  attempt  at 
rendering  into  the  vernacular  this  marvellous  production  is  here  given, 
when  the  universal  admiration  bestowed  on  it,  and  its  adoption  into  the 
devotional  poetry  of  Christians  of  all  denominations,  and  of  almost  every 
clime  and  country,  are  borne  in  mind.  In  the  German  language  alone, 
and  in  one  volume  devoted  to  their  collection,  no  less  than  43  versions 
are  found.  Its  author,  Thomas  of  Celano,  so  called  from  the  place  of 
his  birth,  was  an  Italian,  who  lived  in  the  thirteenth  century,  a  friend 
and  scholar  of  S.  Francis'of  Assissi,  and  one  of  the  earliest  members  of 
the  new  order  of  Minorites,  founded  by  him  in  1208.  His  fame  rests 
chiefly,  if  not  altogether,  on  the  Dies  irce\  but  that  will  last  as  long  as 
the  Church  on  earth  endures. 


Sacred  Poems.  19 

King  of  Majesty  supreme, 
•Who  ail-freely  dost  redeem, 
Save  me,  mercy's  fount  and  stream  ! 

Jesu  !  bear  in  mind,  I  pray, 

Who  hath  caused  thy  earthward  way; 

Spurn  me  not  on  that  dread  day. 

Me  thou  soughtest,  weary,  worn, 
Bending  'neath  thy  Cross  did'st  mourn — 
Was  such  labour  vainly  borne  ? 

Justly  vengeful  and  severe, 
Yet  forgiving,  bow  thine  ear 
Ere  the  reckoning  day  appear. 

Hear  my  groans,  Lord,  self  accused, 
See  my  face,  with  shame  suffused  : 
Ne'er  be  suppliant's  suit  refused. 

Thou  did'st  Mary's  guilt  remove, 
Thou  the  Robber's  refuge  prove, 
Rests  my  hope,  too,  in  Thy  love. 

All  unworthy  is  my  prayer  • 
Pitying  One,  in  mercy  rare, 
From  the  fire  unending  spare. 

With  the  sheep  that  I  may  stand, 
Sundered  from  the  goat's  vile  band, 
Set  me  at  Thy  own  right  hand. 

When  the  cursed,  dire  opprest, 
Sink  in  flames  to  deep  unrest, 
Deign  to  call  me  with  the  blest. 

As  in  prayer  I  lowly  bend 
Hear  my  heartfelt  sighs  ascend, 
Bear  me  scathless  to  the  end.     Amen. 

Canon  Macllwaine. 

B    2 


2o  Sacred  Poems. 

Hone. 

v. 

A^EEMETH  not  Love  at  times  so  occupied 

^^     For  thee,  as  though  it  cared  for  none  beside  ? 

To  great  and  small  things  Love  alike  can  reach, 
And  cares  for  each  as  all,  and  all  as  each. 

Love  of  my  bonds  partook,  that  I  might  be 
In  turn  partaker  of  its  liberty. 

Love  found  me  in  the  wilderness,  at  cost 
Of  painful  quests,  when  I  myself  had  lost. 

Love  on  its  shoulders  joyfully  did  lay 
Me,  weary  with  the  greatness  of  my  way. 

Love  lit  the  lamp  and  swept  the  house  all  round, 
Till  the  lost  money  in  the  end  was  found. 

Love  the  King's  image  there  would  stamp  again, 
Effaced  in  part,  and  soiled  with  rust  and  stain. 

'Twas  Love,  whose  quick  and  ever-watchful  eye 
The  wanderer's  first  step  homeward  did  espy. 

From  its  own  wardrobe  Love  gave  word  to  bring, 
What  things  I  needed — shoes,  and  robe,  and  ring. 

Love  threatens  that  it  may  not  strike,  and  still 
Unheeded,  strikes,  that  so  it  may  not  kill. 

Love  set  me  up  on  high  ;  when  I  grew  vain 

Of  that  my  height,  Love  brought  me  down  again. 


Sacred  Poems.  21 


Love  often  draws  good  for  us  from  our  ill, 
Skilful  to  bless  us  even  against  our  will. 

The  bond-servant  of  Love  alone  is  free  ; 
All  other  freedom  is  but  slavery. 


How  far  above  all  price  Love's  costly  wine, 
Which  can  the  meanest  chalice  make  divine  ! 


Fear  this  effects,  that  I  do  not  the  ill, 
Love  more — that  I  thereunto  have  no  will. 


Seeds  burst  not  their  dark  cells  without  a  throe  ; 
All  birth  is  effort ;  shall  not  Love's  be  so  ? 

Love  weeps,  but  from  its  eyes  these  two  things  win 
The  largest  tears — its  own,  its  brother's  sin. 

The  sweetness  of  the  trodden  camomile 

Is  Love's,  which,  injured,  yields  more  sweets  the  while. 

The  heart  of  Love  is  with  a  thousand  woes 
Pierced,  which  secure  indifference  never  knows. 

The  rose  aye  wears  the  silent  thorn  at  heart, 
And  never  yet  might  pain  for  Love  depart. 

Once  o'er  this  painful  earth  a  man  did  move, 
The  Man  of  griefs,  because  the  Man  of  Love. 

Hope,  Faith,  and  Love,  at  God's  high  altar  shine. 
Lamp  triple-branched,  and  fed  with  oil  divine. 

Two  of  these  triple-lights  shall  once  grow  pale, 
They  burn  without,  but  Love  within  the  veil. 


22  Sacred  Poems. 

Nothing  is  true  but  Love,  nor  aught  of  worth ; 
Love  is  the  incense  which  doth  sweeten  earth. 

O  merchant  at  heaven's  mart  for  heavenly  ware, 
Love  is  the  only  coin  which  passes  there. 

The  wine  of  Love  can  be  obtained  of  none, 
Save  Him  who  trod  the  winepress  all  alone. 

*  Archbishop  Trench. 


Eejoice  OEtiermore, 

VI. 

215  UT  how  shall  we  be  glad  ? 
We  that  are  journeying  through  a  vale  of  tears, 
Encompassed  with  a  thousand  woes  and  fears, 

How  should  we  not  be  sad? 


Angels,  that  ever  stand 
Within  the  presence-chamber,  and  there  raise 
The  never-interrupted  hymn  of  praise, 

May  welcome  this  command  : 

Or  they  whose  strife  is  o'er, 
Who  all  their  weary  length  of  life  have  trod, 
As  pillars  now  within  the  temple  of  God. 

That  shall  go  out  no  more. 

But  we  who  wander  here, 
We  who  are  exiled  in  this  gloomy  place, 
Still  doomed  to  water  earth's  unthankful  face 

With  many  a  bitter  tear — 


Sacred  Poems.  23 

Bid  us  lament  and  mourn, 
Bid  us  that  we  go  mourning  all  the  day, 
And  we  will  find  it  easy  to  obey, 

Of  our  best  things  forlorn  ; 

But  not  that  we  be  glad ; 
If  it  be  true  the  mourners  are  the  blest, 
Oh,  leave  us  in  a  world  of  sin,  unrest, 

And  trouble,  to  be  sad. 

I  spake,  and  thought  to  weep, — 
For  sin  and  sorrow,  suffering  and  crime, 
That  fill  the  world,  all  mine  appointed  time 

A  settled  grief  to  keep. 

When  lo  !  as  day  from  night, 
As  day  from  out  the  womb  of  time  forlorn, 
So  from  that  sorrow  was  that  gladness  born, 

Even  in  mine  own  despite. 

Yet  was  not  that  by  this 
Excluded,  at  the  coming  of  that  joy 
Fled  not  that  grief,  nor  did  that  grief  destroy 

The  newly-risen  bliss. 

But  side  by  side  they  flow, 
Two  fountains  flowing  from  one  smitten  heart, 
And  oft-times  scarcely  to  be  known  apart — 

That  gladness  and  that  woe  ; 

Two  fountains  from  one  source, 
Or  which  from  two  such  neighbouring  sources  run, 
That  aye  for  him  who  shall  unseal  the  one, 

The  other  flows  perforce. 

And  both  are  sweet  and  calm, 
Fair  flowers  upon  the  banks  of  either  blow, 
Both  fertilize  the  soil,  and  where  they  flow. 

Shed  round  them  holy  balm. 

*  Archbishop  Trench. 


24  Sacred  Poems. 

Dap  of 

VII. 


inevitable  day, 
When  a  voice  to  me  shall  say  — 
*  Thou  must  rise  and  come  away  ; 

All  thine  other  journeys  past, 
Gird  thee  and  make  ready  fast 
For  thy  longest  and  thy  last.' 

Day  deep-hidden  from  our  sight 

In  impenetrable  night, 

Who  may  guess  of  thee  aright  ? 

Art  thou  distant,  art  thou  near  ? 
Wilt  thou  seem  more  dark  or  clear  ? 
Day  with  more  of  hope  or  fear. 

Wilt  thou  come,  unseen  before 
Thou  art  standing  at  the  door, 
Saying,  light  and  life  are  o'er  ? 

Or  with  such  a  gradual  pace, 
As  shall  leave  me  largest  space 
To  regard  thee  face  to  face  ? 

Shall  I  lay  my  drooping  head 
On  some  loved  lap,  round  my  bed 
Prayers  be  made  and  tears  be  shed  ? 

Or  at  distance  from  mine  own, 
Name  and  kin  alike  unknown, 
Make  my  solitary  moan  ? 

Will  there  yet  be  things  to  leave, 
Hearts  to  which  this  heart  must  cleave, 
From  which  parting  it  must  grieve  ? 


Sacred  Poems.  25 

Or  shall  life's  best  ties  be  o'er, 
And  all  loved  ones  gone  before 
To  that  other  happier  shore  ? 

Shall  I  gently  fall  on  sleep, 
Death,  like  slumber,  o'er  me  creep, 
Like  a  slumber  sweet  and  deep  ? 

Or  the  soul  long  strive  in  vain 
To  escape,  with  toil  and  pain, 
From  its  half-divided  chain  ? 


Little  skills  it  where  or  how, 
If  thou  comest  then  or  now, 
With  a  smooth  or  angry  brow. 

Come  thou  must,  and  we  must  die — 
Jesus,  Saviour,  stand  Thou  by, 
When  that  last  sleep  seals  our  eye. 

*  Archbishop  Trench. 


fl>  life, 


LIFE,  O  death,  O  world,  O  time, 

O  grave,  where  all  things  flow, 
'Tis  yours  to  make  our  lot  sublime 
With  your  great  weight  of  woe. 

Though  sharpest  anguish  hearts  may  wring, 

Though  bosoms  torn  may  be, 
Yet  suffering  is  a  holy  thing ; 

Without  it  what  were  we  ? 

*  Archbishop  Trench. 


26  Sacred  Poems. 

Cfte  <K!ater0  of  TBabglon. 


IX. 


"C'est  la  le  mystere  apres  lequel  soupirent  toutes  les  ames  exilees,  qui 
s'affligent  sur  les  fleuves  de  Babylon,  en  se  souvenant  de  Sion." — Bossuet. 


2[  dream  of  many  waters.     I  beheld, 

/^     And  lo  !  a  summer-night  in  Babylon, 

And  the  great  river,  even  Euphrates,  wash'd 

The  land  of  Shinar,  somewhat  swifter  now 

When  snows  were  melting  on  Armenian  hills. 

So  by  the  hundred  gates,  lintel  and  post 

All  polish'd  brass,  the  waves  went  washing  on. 

And  on  the  flood  the  osier  barges  rode, 

Shield-shaped,  with  earthen  jars  of  palm-tree  wine 

Heap'd  on  the  deck,  and  dark  shapes  stretch'd  around. 

League  upon  league,  through  tracts  of  wheat  and  corn, 

That  look'd  on  boundless  plains  like  knightly  hosts, 

Far  glimmering  with  pale  and  ghostly  gold  : 

Through  ranks  of  cedars,  planted  of  the  Lord 

Round  the  lign-aloes,  by  the  river's  side, 

Had  they  dropped  down  the  flood.     Then  the  tilth  ceased, 

And  banks,  like  mountains,  rose  on  either  hand, 

Worthy  of  wonderment,  the  work  of  kings  ; 

And  long  canals  stretched  lighted  by  the  moon, 

And  by  the  company  of  Chaldean  stars : 

Till  there  came  houses,  bastion'd  fortresses 

With  lion-gonfalons,  and  a  maze  of  streets — 

And  then  the  terraced  pyramid  of  Bel, 

And  a  vast  palace,  with  its  gardens  hung 

As  by  art  magic  in  the  spiced  air 

PencilPd,  like  purple  islands  fast  asleep. 

But  evermore,  by  all  the  gates  of  brass ; 

And  where  the  barges  floated  down  the  stream  : 

And  far  along  the  sloping  line  of  streets 

Hung  with  a  thousand  cressets  naphtha-lit  : 

And  up  among  the  garden-terraces  ; 

I  heard  the  murmur  of  Euphrates  flood. 


Sacred  Poems.  27 

So  as  I  linger'd  there,  anon  methought 
The  tide  of  life  in  that  great  city  pent 
Parted  in  twain,  and  took  its  separate  way. 
For  one  moved  upward  by  the  basalt  wall, 
A  host  of  fierce-eyed  men,  with  long  black  hair 
Stream'd  o'er  white  tunics,  their  dark  faces  wreath'd 
With  turbans  white,  in  every  hand  a  staff 
Carven  with  lilies  or  with  eagle-head. 
And  haughty  girls  in  gilded  cars  swept  on 
To  the  Assyrian  Aphrodite's  fane, 
With  faces  passion-flush'd  or  terror-pale, — 
Red  and  white  roses,  rich,  but  soon  to  fade. 
High  on  the  palace-terraces  above 
There  walk'd  a  king* — it  made  me  fear  to  see 
How  like  he  was  to  those  old  sculptured  kings, 
Black-cuiTd,  black-bearded,  full  of  state  and  woe, 
Who  sit  the  world  out  on  their  chairs  of  stone, 
Staring  for  ever  on  the  arrow-heads, 
Wherein  their  bloody  chronicles  are  writ. 
There  too  I  saw  grey-beard  astrologers, 
Who  read  the  silver  horologue  of  heaven  ; 
And  them,  who  shape  the  purpose  shadow'd  forth 
In  visions  of  the  head  upon  the  bed ; 
And  priests,  who  give  attendance  at  the  shrine 
Well-strewn,  that  hath  no  image  of  its  god, 
Or  at  that  other  where  he  sits  eterne, 
Statue  and  throne  and  pedestal  of  gold, 
Grinning  and  glimmering  through  the  frankincense. 

From  all  there  diverse  went  another  way 
Another  concourse,  gentler  of  regard. 
And  as  a  widow,  when  her  son  is  dead, 
Putteth  her  white  lip  down  to  the  white  shroud, 
And  communeth  a  little  while  with  death, 
So  did  the  exiles  commune  with  their  Past. 
Psalms  did  they  murmur — poesy  of  him, 
Shepherd,  King,  Saint,  and  penitent,  who  wore 
The  golden  grief  that  gave  the  golden  song  : — 

*  Daniel  iv.  29. 


28  Sacred  Poems. 

And  later  lamentations.     For  as  when 
A  wandering  man,  beside  an  ocean  shore 
Belated,  hears  the  waves  upon  the  beach 
Discoursing  drearily,  and  night  hangs  black 
On  the  black  rocks,  over  the  moaning  sea  ; — 
But  suddenly  there  circles  in  the  gloom 
A  bird's  voice  wailing,  like  a  soul  in  pain, 
Not  dispossess'd  of  some  immortal  hope  : 
So  Jeremiah  wailed  o'er  Judah's  path, 
Still  round  and  round  that  strange  old  alphabet 
Weaving  his  long  funereal  chant  of  woe,* 
Still  singing  sweetly  of  the  seventy  years  ! 

I  saw  the  exiles  seek  the  river  side, 
There  where  the  willows  grey  grew  in  the  midst 
Of  Babylon,  and  hang  their  harps  thereon. 

Thus  evermore  in  ear  of  either  throng 
Sounded  the  voice  of  waters.     It  went  up 
Over  the  city,  where  the  forests  hang, 
Sleepily  parleying  in  the  charmed  light 
Round  alabaster  stairs  and  curious  flowers 
From  Media  brought,  and  sunny  steeps  of  Ind. 
How  different  to  each  ! — To  these  it  swept 
On  with  a  din  of  Oriental  war. 
It  sounded  an  alarm  that  wakened  up 
Far  echoes  from  far  rivers  all  night  long, 
Angering  the  dragon  in  his  lotos-bed, 
And  bringing  Persian  kings  unto  the  brink 
Of  the  Choaspes  with  their  silver  jars. 
Like  a  soothsayer  it  denounced  a  woe 
On  Tigris,  telling  the  predestined  time 
When  he  should  wail  along  a  waste  of  bricks 
Painted  with  pine-cones,  and  colossal  bulls. 
And  like  a  divination  it  aroused 


*  In  primis  quatuor  capitibus  Lamentationum  versus  literis  initia- 
libus  ordinem  Alphabethi  sequuntur,  ita  tamen,  ut  in  capite  tertio 
tres  semper  versus  continui  ab  eadem  litera  incipient.  Ackermann. 
Introd.  in  Libros  Sacros. 


Sacred  Poems.  29 

As  it  were  gods,  ascending  from  the  earth, 

Disquieting  old  kings  to  bring  them  up, 

Urukh,  and  Ilgi,  Iva,  and  the  rest, 

Whose  politic  alliances,  fierce  wars, 

And  love,  and  hate  have  perished  like  themselves, 

Forgotten  in  the  city  where  they  dwelt. 

But  to  the  other  throng  the  river  told 
Things  written  in  their  great  old  Hebrew  book. 
It  told  how  it  had  swept  through  Eden  once, 
A  bright  chord  of  the  fourfold  river-lyre. 
And  it  had  old-world  songs  of  Abraham, 
And  him  of  Rehoboth  who  went  to  rule 
Among  the  dark-eyed  dukes  on  Seir's  red  rocks,* 
And  him  of  Pethor,f  walking  wrapped  in  thought. 
Anon  it  seem'd  to  sing.     "  My  waves  flow  past 
A  dungeon,  and  one  bound  with  chains  of  brass, 
A  king,  a  crownless,  childless,  eyeless  ghost  !  \ 
And  on  my  surface  lights  and  shadows  play, 
And  moonlights  quiver  on  the  ripply  lines, 
The  silver  roll  among  my  sighing  reeds, 
And  the  stars  look  into  my  silent  depths, 
But  on  the  awful  river  of  his  thoughts, 
Black  as  the  waters  of  a  mountain  lake 
What  time  the  hills  are  powder'd  white  with  snow, 
Sunlight,  and  moon,  and  stars,  are  not  at  all : 
Dark,  dark,  all  draped  with  shadows  of  his  life." 

Then  came  another  tale — a  legend  wild — § 
How  the  Ten  Tribes,  the  banish'd  of  the  Lord 
Took  counsel  with  themselves,  that  they  would  leave 
The  multitude  of  heathens,  and  fare  forth 


*  These  are  their  dukes  .  .  and  these  are  the  kings  that  reigned 
in  the  land  of  Edom  .  .  Saul  of  Rehoboth  by  the  river  reigned. — 
Gen.  xxxvi.  19,  31,  37. 

t  Numbers  xxii.  5. 

+  Zedekiah. — See  2  Kings,  xxv.  7. 

§  See  the  legend  of  the  journey  of  the  Ten  Tribes  across  the  Euphrates 
to  Arsareth  in  2  Esdras. 


30  Sacred  Poems. 

To  a  far  country,  where  there  never  came 

Oarsman  or  sail.     A  penitential  host, 

They  entered  the  Euphrates  by  the  ford. 

And  often  hath  the  moon  at  midnight  hung 

Pillars  of  luminous  silver  o'er  the  wave, 

But  not  a  pillar  half  so  broad  and  bright 

As  that  which  steered  them  on,  while  the  Most  High 

Held  still  the  flood.     And  aye  their  way  they  took 

Twice  nine  long  months,  until  they  reach'd  the  land 

Arsareth.     There  the  mountains  gird  them  in, — 

And  o'er  the  gleaming  granite  pass  white  clouds, 

That  sail  from  awful  waterfalls,  and  catch, 

And  tear  their  silver  fleeces  on  the  pines. 

And  never  hunter  scaled  those  granite  peaks, 

And  never  wandering  man  hath  heard  the  roar 

Of  cataracts  soften'd  through  those  folds  of  fir, 

But  a  great  temple  hangs  upon  the  hills, 

And  ever  and  anon  rolls  through  its  gates 

A  mighty  music  washing  through  the  pines, 

And  silver. trumps  still  snarl  at  the  new  moon ; 

And  all  their  life  is  sacrament  and  psalm, 

Vesper  or  festival,  and  holy  deed. 

There  do  they  dwell  until  the  latter  time, 

When  God  Most  High  shall  stay  the  springs  again. 


The  waters  changed  their  meaning.     There  came  down 
Some  of  the  others  to  Euphrates'  brink, 
And  much  they  question'd  why  those  harps  hung  there, 
Saying  "  Come,  sing  us  one  of  Sion's  songs  !" 
How  shall  they  sing  God's  song  in  the  strange  land  ? 
For  it  is  native  of  the  Temple,  laid 
Like  a  white  flower  on  Moriah's  breast ; 
And  it  is  not  for  Asia's  sealike  plain, 
But  for  the  shadows  of  the  purple  hills  : 
Not  for  the  broad  and  even-pulsing  stream, 
But  for  the  land  where  Jordan  passioneth 
His  poetry  of  waterfalls,  night  and  day 
Anger'd  by  cataracts,  lulled  by  nightingales, 
Crown'd  with  white  foam,  and  triumphing  for  ever, 


Sacred  Poems.  31 


That  is  to  the  Euphrates,  as  a  saint 
Full  of  sweet  yearnings  and  of  tears  divine, 
Is  to  some  cold  and  passionless  idol  god 
Imprison'd  in  his  rigid  marble  lines. 


Next,  as  from  a  far  country  there  came  one — 
Slow  was  his  gait,  his  garment  travel-stain'd,* 
And  in  his  hand,  methought,  he  held  a  scroll, 
Written  from  right  to  left,  Semitic-wise. 
Then  one  said  to  him,  "  Wherefore  art  thou  come  ?" 
And  he — "  I  come  from  him  of  Anathoth." 
Whereat,  he  bound  a  stone  upon  the  scroll, 
And  flung  it  far  away  into  the  flood, 
When  suddenly  a  trumpet  blast  waxed  loud, 
Against  Chaldea  rousing  Ararat, 
And  Ashkenaz  and  Minni,  kingdoms  old. 
Yea,  instantaneously  a  mighty  voice 
Of  Heav'n,  and  earth,  and  all  that  is  therein, 
Sang  over  Babylon.     And  as  far  north 
The  ice-bound  mariner  looks  up,  and  lo  ! 
The  sky  is  spann'd  with  the  auroral  arch, 
And  the  Heav'n,  full  of  glory,  blossometh 
With  light  unspeakable — so  now,  methought, 
The  sky  grew  radiant  up  above  Jny  head 
World  upon  world.     And  then  I  heard  a  song, 
Angels,  archangels,  and  the  company 
Of  Heaven,  chanting  unto  golden  harps 
With  exultation,  "  Babylon  the  Great 
Is  fallen,  fallen  ;"  and  from  earth  below 
Rose  echo,  "  fallen,  fallen"  back  again. 
And  then  I  thought  that  I  could  hear  far  off 
The  cedars  and  the  firs  of  Lebanon,! 
With  a  wind  rustling  all  their  odorous  robes, 
That  shaped  itself  in  long  low  syllables, 
As  if  a  happy  thought  went  sighing  through 
Their  dark-green  halls  and  sombre  colonnades, 
Saying,  "  No  feller  comes  against  us  now, 

*  Seraiah — cf.  Jeremiah  li.  59.  t  Isaiah  xiv. 


32  Sacred  Poems. 

Since  they  have  laid  thee  low,  O  Babylon  !" 
And  the  great  river  sobb'd,  "  O  Babylon  S" 
I  beheld  gods,  and  demigods,  and  kings, 
Like  shadows  upon  unsubstantial  thrones. 
I  saw  the  crowns  upon  their  wither'd  brows, 
Like  the  thin  circlet  of  the  waning  moon 
Over  a  thin  white  cloud.     Ranged  were  they  all, 
A  royal  consistory,  row  on  row, 

Sleeping  their  sleep.     But  now  their  ranks  were  stirred, 
As  the  wan  leaves,  shrunken  from  red  to  white, 
—The  chestnuts'  ashes,  or  the  beeches'  fire — 
Are  stirr'd  in  heaps,  and  a  shrill  murmuring  went 
Among  them,  like  a  wailing  of  the  birds. 
And  they  look'd  narrowly  on  one  that  came 
Into  their  company,  and  laughed,  and  said, 
"  How  art  thou  fallen,  O  !  thou  Morning  star  ! 
For  we  are  kings  at  least,  and  take  our  fill 
Of  rest,  each  one  in  glory  on  his  bed, 
Strewn  with  sweet  odours,  divers  kinds  of  spice. 
But  thou  art  as  a  wanderer  in  our  land, 
Thy  carcase,  trodden  under  foot  of  men — 
Disrobed,  dissceptred,  dropp'd  with  blood,  discrown'd !' 
Then  Heav'n  and  the  abyss  were  mute  once  more, 
And  the  curse  fell  upon  broad  walls,  high  gates, 
Utterly  broken,  burned  in  the  fire  : 
And  the  curse  fell  on  garden-terraces, 
Faded,  all  faded,  like  a  golden  cloud, 
And  tumbled,  like  a  cliff  in  heaps  of  stones  ; 
And  the  curse  fell  upon  Euphrates  last, 
Fountain  and  flood,  and  all  his  sea  dried  up. 

Yet  other  shapes  and  sounds  came  to  me  still. 
I  saw  a  fire  dark-red  in  the  fierce  sky, 
Three  shadowy  figures  flitting  to  and  fro  ; 
Far  off  I  heard  their  Beneditite* 
I  saw  a  host,  across  the  river's  bed, 
Trample  right  onward  to  a  palace-gate, 
Whence  from  a  great  feast  fled  a  thousand  lords, 

*  The  Song  of  the  Three  Children. 


Sacred  Poems.  33 

And  dark  sultanas,  dress'd  in  white  symars. 

And  in  the  hall  I  saw  a  blaze  of  light 

Round  gold  and  silver  cups  of  strange  device, 

And  one  mysterious  figure,  scarlet-rob'd,* 

Waiting  unmov'd,  and  on  the  dias  high 

A  king,  the  wine  still  red  on  his  white  lips. 

And  I  beheld  a  barge  upon  the  wave, 

Lo  !  at  its  helm  there  was  a  godlike  form, 

A  glittering  tiar  above  his  kausia.f 

Sitting  the  centre  of  a  light  of  gems, 

Shadow'd  by  silk-embroider'd  sails,  he  steered 

His  pinnace  to  the  dyke  Pallakopas, 

Keeping  his  royal  court  and  state  on  deck, 

As  he  sailed  down  to  see  the  pictured  graves 

Of  the  old  kings,  that  sleep  world  without  end, 

Where  shadows  are  the  only  moving  things. 

And  one  kept  court  upon  the  deck  as  well, 

White-lipp'd,  and  grim,  and  stern,  and  that  was  Death 

And  then  a  stately  chamber,  muffled  round 

With  golden  curtains,  rose  beside  the  stream  : 

And,  his  face  cover'd  with  a  silken  veil, 

Walked  the  Resch-GluthaJ  among  aged  men, 

Thin  faces,  pinch'd-up  foreheads,  narrow  hearts, 

Whereon  the  thoughts  of  God's  eternal  book 

Are  stamp'd  in  petty  legendary  lore,§ 

As  the  great  waves  with  all  their  noble  beat 

Carve  out  those  feather'd  lines  along  the  strand. 

And  last  I  thought  Euphrates  was  dried  up, 

And  o'er  his  bed  the  kings  of  the  Orient, 

Surging  with  war's  full  stream  of  clanging  gold,|| 

March'd  to  the  battle  of  Almighty  God.  IF 


*  Daniel  v.  29. 

t  See  the  account  of  Alexander's  death  in  Grote's  History  of  Greece, 
vol.  xii. 

$  The  Prince  of  the  Captivity. 

§  The  Gemara,  Mischna,  and  Talmud  grew  up  among  the  Babylonian 
Jews. 

II         TroAAu)  pCVfJLCLTi 

Xpvarov  Karats. — SOPH.  Antig.  130. 
IF  Apoc.  xvi,  13.  1 6. 
C 


34  Sacred  Poems. 

But  on  before  me  swept  the  moonlit  stream, 
That  had  entranced  me  with  his  memories 
A  thousand  battles,  and  one  burst  of  psalms, 
Rolling  his  waters  to  the  Indian  sea 
Beyond  Balsara  and  Elana  far, 
Nigh  to  two  thousand  miles  from  Ararat. 
And  his  full  music  took  a  finer  tone, 
And  sang  me  something  of  a  "  gentler  stream"* 
That  rolls  for  ever  to  another  shore, 
Whereof  our  God  Himself  is  the  sole  sea, 
And  Christ's  dear  love  the  pulsing  of  the  tide, 
And  His  sweet  Spirit  is  the  breathing  wind. 
Something  it  chanted  too  of  exiled  men 
On  the  sad  bank  of  that  strange  river  Life, 
Hanging  the  harp  of  their  deep  heart-desires 
To  rest  upon  the  willow  of  the  Cross, 
And  longing  for  the  everlasting  hills, 
Mount  Sion  and  Jerusalem  of  God. 
And  then  I  thought  I  knelt,  and  kneeling  heard 
Nothing — save  only  the  long  wash  of  waves, 
And  one  sweet  psalm  that  sobbed  for  evermore. 

*  Bishop  Alexander. 


X. 


WONDERFUL  !  round  whose  birth-hour 

Prophetic  song,  miraculous  power, 
Cluster  and  burn,  like  star  and  flower. 

Those  marvellous  rays  that  at  Thy  will, 
From  the  closed  Heaven  which  is  so  chill, 
So  passionless,  streamed  round  Thee  still, 

*  "A  gentler  stream  with  gladness  still 

The  city  of  our  God  shall  fill."—  Psalm  xliv.,  N.V. 


Sacred  Poems.  35 

Are  but  as  broken  gleams  that  start, 

O  Light  of  Lights,  from  Thy  deep  heart, 

Thyself,  Thyself,  the  Wonder  art ! 

O  Counsellor  !  four  thousand  years, 
One  question  tremulous  with  tears, 
One  awful  question  vexed  our  peers. 

They  asked  the  vault,  but  no  one  spoke ; 
They  asked  the  depth,  no  answer  woke  ; 
They  asked  their  hearts,  that  only  broke. 

They  looked,  and  sometimes  on  the  height 

Far  off  they  saw  a  haze  of  white, 

That  was  a  storm,  but  looked  like  light. 

The  secret  of  the  years  is  read, 
The  enigma  of  the  quick  and  dead 
By  the  Child  voice  interpreted. 

O  everlasting  Father,  God  ! 

Sun  after  sun  went  down,  and  trod 

Race  after  race  the  green  earth's  sod, 

Till  generations  seem'd  to  be 
But  dead  waves  of  an  endless  sea, 
But  dead  leaves  from  a  deathless  tree. 


But  Thou  hast  come,  and  now  we  know 
Each  wave  hath  an  eternal  flow, 
Each  leaf  a  lifetime  after  snow. 


O  Prince  of  Peace  !  crown'd  yet  discrown'd, 
They  say  no  war  nor  battle's  sound 
Was  heard  the  tired  world  around ; 

C    2 


36  Sacred  Poems. 

They  say  the  hour  that  Thou  didst  come, 
The  trumpet's  voice  was  stricken  dumb, 
And  no  one  beat  the  battle-drum. 


Yea,  still  as  life  to  them  that  mark 
Its  poor  adventure,  seems  a  bark 
Whose  track  is  pale,  whose  sail  is  dark : 

Thou,  who  art  Wonderful,  dost  fling 
One  ray,  till  like  a  sea-bird's  wing 
The  canvas  is  a  snowy  thing, — 

Till  the  dark  boat  is  turn'd  to  gold, 
The  sunlit-silver'd  ocean  roll'd 
With  anthems  that  are  new  and  old, 

With  noble  path  of  luminous  ray 
From  the  boat  slanting  all  the  way 
To  the  island  of  undying  day. 

And  still  as  clouding  questions  swarm 
Around  our  hearts,  and  dimly  form 
Their  problems  of  the  mist  and  storm  : 

And  still  as  ages  fleet,  but  fraught 
With  syllables,  whereby  is  wrought 
The  fulness  of  the  Eternal  thought ; 

And  when  not  yet  in  God's  sunshine, 
The  smoke  drifts  from  the  embattled  line 
Of  warring  hearts  that  would  be  Thine  ; 

We  bid  our  doubts  and  passions  cease, 
Our  restless  fears  be  still' d  with  these — 
Counsellor,  Father,  Prince  of  Peace  ! 

*  Bishop  Alexander. 


Sacred  Poems.  37 

Cf)e  Deatf)  of  afiel 

XI. 

In  youthful  dignity  and  lovely  grace, 

With  heaven  itself  reflected  on  his  face, 

In  purity  and  innocence  array'd, 

The  perfect  work  of  God  was  Abel  made. 

To  him  the  fleecy  charge  his  sire  consigned  : 

An  angel's  figure  with  an  angel's  mind, 

In  him  his  father  every  blessing  viewed, 

And  thought  the  joys  of  Paradise  renew'd. 

But  stern  and  gloomy  was  the  soul  of  Cain ; 

A  brother's  virtue  was  the  source  of  pain ; 

Malice  and  hate  their  secret  wounds  impart, 

And  envy's  vulture  gnaws  upon  his  heart : 

With  discontented  hand  he  turned  the  soil, 

And  inly  grieving,  murmured  o'er  his  toil. 

Each  with  his  offering  to  the  Almighty  came, 

Their  altars  raised,  and  fed  the  sacred  flame. 

Scarce  could  the  pitying  Abel  bear  to  bind 

A  lamb,  the  picture  of  his  Master's  mind  : 

Which  to  the  pile  with  tender  hands  he  drew, 

And  wept,  as  he  the  bleating  victim  slew. 

Around,  with  fond  regard  the  zephyr  played, 

Nor  dared  disturb  the  oblation  Abel  made. 

The  gracious  flames  accepted  upward  flew, 

The  Lord  received  them — for  his  heart  was  true. 

His  first-reap'd  fruits  indignant  Cain  prepares,— 

But  vain  his  sacrifice,  and  vain  his  prayers,— 

For  all  were  hollow :  God  and  nature  frowned, 

The  wind  dispersed  them,  and  the  Lord  disowned. 

He  looks  behind — what  flames  around  him  rise  ? 

"  O  hell !  'tis  Abel's,  Abel's  sacrifice  ! 

"  Curst,  hated  sight !  another  look  would  tear 

"  My  soul  with  rage,  would  plunge  me  in  despair  ! 

"  Still  must  each  wish  that  Abel  breathes  be  heard ; 

"  Still  must  I  see  his  suit  to  mine  preferr'd  ! 

"  Still  must  this  darling  of  creation  share 

"  His  parents'  dearest  love,  his  Maker's  care ; 


38  Sacred  Poems. 

"  But  Cain  is  doomed  his  sullen  hate  to  vent — 

"  Is  doomed  his  woes  in  silence  to  lament : — 

"  Why  should  the  name  of  Abel  sound  more  dear, 

"  More  sweet  than  Cain's  unto  my  father's  ear? 

"  Each  look,  that  once  on  me  with  pleasure  glowed, 

"  Each  kiss,  each  smile,  on  Abel  is  bestowed. 

"  He  loves  me,  views  me  with  sincere  delight ; 

"  Yet,  yet  I  hate  him,  yet  I  loathe  his  sight  ! 

"  But  why  detest  him  ?  why  do  I  return 

"  Hate  for  his  love, — his  warm  affection  spurn  ? 

"  Ah  !  vain  each  effort,  vain  persuasion's  art, 

"  While  rancour's  sting  is  festering  in  my  heart  ! " 

At  this  ill-fated  moment,  when  his  rage 

Nor  love  could  bind,  nor  reason  could  assuage, 

Young  Abel  came;  he  marked  his  sullen  woe, 

Nor  in  the  brother  could  discern  the  foe. 

As  down  his  cheeks  the  generous  sorrow  ran, 

He  gazed  with  fondness,  and  at  length  began  : 

"  Why  lowers  that  storm  beneath  thy  clouded  eye  ? 

"  Why  wouldst  thou  thus  thy  Abel's  presence  fly  ? 

"  Turn  thee,  my  brother  !  view  me  laid  thus  low, 

"  And  smooth  the  threatening  terrors  of  thy  brow. 

"  Have  I  offended  ?  Is  my  fault  so  great, 

"  That  truth  and  friendship  cannot  change  thy  hate  ? 

"  Then  tell  me,  Cain,  O  tell  me  all  thy  care  ; 

"  O  cease  thy  grief,  or  let  thy  Abel  share  ! " 

No  tears  prevail :  his  passions  stronger  rise  ; 

Increasing  fury  flashes  from  his  eyes  ! 

At  once  each  fiend  around  his  heartstrings  twines, — 

At  once  all  hell  within  his  soul  combines. 

"  Ah,  serpent !  " — At  the  words  he  fiercely  sprung, 

Caught  the  accursed  weapon,  brandished,  swung, 

And  smote  !  the  stroke  descended  on  his  brow ; 

The  suppliant  victim  sunk  beneath  the  blow  : 

The  streaming  blood  distained  his  locks  with  gore — 

Those  beauteous  tresses,  that  were  gold  before  : 

Nor  could  his  lips  a  deep-drawn  sigh  restrain, 

Not  for  himself  he  sighed — he  sighed  for  Cain  : 

His  dying  eyes  a  look  of  pity  cast, 

And  beamed  forgiveness,  ere  they  closed  their  last. 


Sacred  Poems.  39 

The  murderer  viewed  him  with  a  vacant  stare, — 
Each  thought  was  anguish,  and  each  look  despair. 
"  Abel,  awake,  arise  ! "  he  trembling  cried  ; 
"  Abel,  my  brother  !  " — but  no  voice  replied. 
At  every  call  more  madly  wild  he  grew, 
Paler  than  he,  whom  late  in  rage  he  slew. 
In  frightful  silence  o'er  the  corse  he  stood, 
And  chain'd  in  terror,  wondered  at  the  blood. 
"  Awake  !  yet  oh  !  no  voice,  no  smile,  no  breath  ! 
"  O  God,  support  me  !  O  should  this  be  death  ! 
"  O  thought  most  dreadful !  how  my  blood  congeals  ! 
"  How  every  vein  increasing  horror  feels  ! 
"  How  faint  his  visage,  and  how  droops  his  head  ! 
"  O  God,  he's  gone  ! — and  I  have  done  the  deed  ! " 
Pierc'd  with  the  thought,  the  fatal  spot  he  flies, 
And,  plunged  in  darkness,  seeks  a  vain  disguise. 
Eve,  hapless  Eve  !  'twas  thine  these  woes  to  see, 
To  weep  thy  own,  thy  children's  misery  ! 
She,  all  unconscious,  with  her  husband  strayed 
To  meet  her  sons  beneath  their  favourite  shade : 
To  them  the  choicest  fruits  of  all  her  store, 
Delightful  task  !  a  pleasing  load  she  bore. 
While  with  maternal  love  she  looked  around — 
Lo  !  Abel,  breathless,  weltering  on  the  ground  ! 
She  shrieked  his  name — 'twas  all  that  she  could  say, 
Then  sunk,  and  lifeless  as  her  Abel  lay. 
Not  long  the  trance  could  all  her  senses  seal, 
She  woke  too  soon  returning  woe  to  feel. 
Those  lips  that  once  gave  rapture  to  her  breast, 
Now  cold  in  death  the  afflicted  mother  pressed. 
Fix'd  in  the  silent  agony  of  woe, 
The  father  stood,  nor  comfort  could  bestow. 
Weep,  wretched  father  !  hopeless  mother,  weep  ! 
A  long,  long  slumber  Abel 's  doomed  to  sleep  ! 
Wrapt  in  the  tangling  horrors  of  the  wood, 
The  murderer  sought  to  fly  himself  and  God. 
Night  closed  her  welcome  shades  around  his  head, 
But  angry  conscience  lashed  him  as  he  fled. 
"  Here  stretch  thy  limbs,  thou  wretch  !  O  may  this 
blast 


4°  Sacred  Poems. 

"  Bear  death,  and  may  this  moment  be  thy  last ! 

"  May  blackest  night  eternal  hold  her  reign ; 

"  And  may  the  sun  forget  to  light  the  plain  ! 

"  Ye  shades  surround  me  !   darkness  hide  my  sin  ! 

"  Tis  dark  without,  but  darker  still  within. 

"  O  Abel  !  O  my  brother  !  could  not  all 

"  Thy  love  for  me  preserve  thee  from  thy  fall ! 

"  Why  did  not  Heaven  avert  that  deadly  blow, 

"  That  dreadful,  hated  wound,  that  laid  thee  low  ! 

"  Oh  !  I'm  in  hell  !  each  breath,  each  blast  alarms, 

"  And  every  maddening  demon  is  in  arms  : 

"  The  voice  of  God,  the  curse  of  Heaven  I  hear  ; 

"  The  name  of  murder'd  Abel  strikes  my  ear, 

"  Rolls  in  the  thunder,  rustles  in  the  trees, 

"  And  Abel  !  Abel  !  murmurs  in  the  breeze. 

"  Still  fancy  scares  me  with  his  dying  groan, 

"  And  clothes  each  scene  in  horrors  not  its  own. 

"  Curst  be  that  day,  the  harbinger  of  woes, 

"  When  first  my  mother  felt  a  mother's  throes  : 

"  When  sweetly  smiling  on  my  infant  face, 

"  She  blessed  the  firstling  of  a  future  race. 

"  O  Death  !  thou  hidden,  thou  mysterious  bane  ! 

"  Can  all  thy  terrors  equal  living  pain  ? — 

"  Yet  still  there  lies  a  world  beyond  the  grave, 

"  From  whence  no  death,  no  subterfuge  can  save. 

"  Thou,  God  of  Vengeance  !  these  my  sufferings  see,- 

"  To  all  the  God  of  Mercy,  but  to  me  ! 

"  O  soothe  the  tortures  of  my  guilty  state,— 

"  Great  is  Thy  vengeance,  but  Thy  mercy  great, 

"  My  brother  !  thou  canst  see  how  deep  I  grieve  ; 

"  Look  down,  thou  injured  angel,  and  forgive  ! 

"  Far  hence  a  wretched  fugitive,  I  roam, 

"  The  earth  my  bed,  the  wilderness  my  home. 

"  Far  hence  I  stray  from  these  delightful  seats, 

"  To  solitary  tracts  and  drear  retreats. 

"  Yet  ah  !  the  very  beasts  will  shun  my  sight, 

"  Will  fly  my  bloody  footsteps  with  affright. 

"  No  brother  they,  no  faithful  friend  have  slain, — 

"  Detested  only  for  that  crime  is  Cain. 

"  Had  I  but  lulled  each  fury  of  my  soul, 


Sacred  Poems.  41 

"  Had  held  each  rebel  passion  in  control, 

"  To  nature  and  to  God  had  faithful  proved, 

"  And  loved  a  brother  as  a  brother  loved, — 

"  Then  had  I  sunk  into  a  grave  of  rest, 

"  And  Cain  had  breathed  his  last  on  Abel's  breast  ! " 

Rev.  Charles  Wolfe. 


rai0ing; 

XII. 

AGILENT  and  sad,  deep  gazing  on  the  clay, 
™     Where  Lazarus  breathless,  cold,  and  lifeless  lay, 
The  Saviour  stood  ;  he  dropped  a  heavenly  tear, 
The  dew  of  pity  from  a  soul  sincere  : 
He  heaved  a  groan  ! — though  large  his  cup  of  woe, 
Yet  still  for  others'  grief  his  sorrows  flow ; 
He  knew  what  pains  must  pierce  a  sister's  heart, 
When  death  had  sped  his  sharpest,  deadliest  dart, 
And  seized  a  brother's  life.     Around  they  stand, 
Sisters  and  friends,  a  weeping,  mournful  band  : — 
His  prayer  he  raises  to  the  blest  abode, 
And  mercy  bears  it  to  the  throne  of  God. 
'  Lord  !  Thou  hast  always  made  Thy  Son  Thy  care, 
'  Ne'er  has  my  soul  in  vain  preferred  its  prayer  ; 
*  Hear  now,  O  Father  !  this  Thy  flock  relieve,— 
'  Dry  Thou  their  tears,  and  teach  them  to  believe 
'  Thy  power  the  sinking  wretch  from  death  can  save, 
'  And  burst  the  iron  fetters  of  the  grave  : — 
'  Awake  !  arise  !"  the  healing  words  He  spoke, 
And  death's  deep  slumbers  in  a  moment  broke  : 
Fate  hears  astonish'd, — trembles  at  the  word, 
And  nature  yields,  o'ercome  by  nature's  Lord. 
Light  peeps  with  glimmering  rays  into  his  eyes  ; 
With  lingering  paces  misty  darkness  flies  ; 
The  pulse  slow  vibrates  through  the  languid  frame, 
The  frozen  blood  renews  the  vital  flame ; 
His  body  soon  its  wonted  strength  regains, 


42  Sacred  Poems. 

And  life,  returning,  rushes  to  his  veins. — 

They  look  !  they  start  !  they  look  !— 'tis  he,  'tis  he  ! 

They  see  him, — and  yet  scarce  believe  they  see  ! 

On  Him — on  Him  they  turn  their  thankful  eyes, 

From  whom  such  wondrous  benefits  arise  : 

On  Him  they  look,  who,  God  and  Man  combined, 

Joined  mortal  feelings  with  a  heavenly  mind  : 

On  him  their  warm  collected  blessings  poured  ; 

As  Man,  they  loved  him — and  as  God,  adored. 

Rev.  Charles  Wolfe. 


3[ofm 


XIII. 


Y  rush  the  wild  thousands 
From  Salem's  proud  towers  ? 
Why  rush  the  wild  thousands 

From  Jericho's  bowers  ? 
From  the  vine-cover'd  valley, 

The  olive-hill's  side, 
From  the  cot,  from  the  palace, 

Still  rushes  the  tide  ! 
The*  priest  and  the  warrior, 

The  lord  and  the  slave  ; 

Still  onward  they  pour 

To  the  willow-wreath'd  shore, 
Where  the  wilderness  glitters 

With  Jordan's  bright  wave. 


What  seek  they  ?     A  prince, 

In  his  tunic  of  gold  ! 
What  seek  they  ?     A  chief 

Like  their  warriors  of  old. 
When  the  Maccabee  scythe 

Mowed  the  Syrian's  mailed  hordes, 


Sacred  Poems.  43 

And  Arabia  was  tame 

At  the  blaze  of  their  swords. 
But  the  Heaven-doom'd  Roman 

Has  levelled  the  throne ; 

And  like  dust  on  the  gale, 

And  like  rust  on  the  mail, 
The  old  lion-banner 

Is  shattered  and  gone. 


Hark  !  the  shouts  of  the  host 

As  they  sweep  o'er  the  plain  ; 
See  their  gesture  of  triumph, 

Their  glance  of  disdain. 
"All  hail  to  the  Prophet  ! 

Four  hundred  long  years 
Have  scourged  us  with  scorpions, 

Have  steeped  us  in  tears. 
But,  the  kingdom  is  coming, 

Its  Herald  has  come. 

Now  the  Roman  shall  feel 

The  tramp  of  our  heel, 
And  the  gods  of  the  Gentile 

Shall  plunge  in  the  tomb." 


'Tis  the  Prophet  of  prophets, 

For  ages  foretold, 
Of  the  race  that  the  thunders 

O'er  Palestine  rolled. 
With  a  voice  that  now  saves, 

And  a  voice  that  now  stings, 
Rebuker  of  people, 

Rebuker  of  kings. 
His  eye  like  the  flash, 

As  it  darts  from  the  cloud. 

The  camel's-hair  fold 

Round  his  limbs'  giant  mould, 
And  a  forehead,  to  all  but  Jehovah 
unbow'd. 


44  Sacred  Poems. 

He  speaks — all  are  hushed. 

On  his  lip  burns  the  coal ; 
The  flame  from  the  altar, 

The  voice  of  the  soul ! 
"  Ho  !  leaders  of  Israel, 

Blind  guides  of  the  blind, 
With  madness  before  you, 

And  vengeance  behind ; 
Repent  for  the  time 

Of  Messiah  is  nigh ; 

For  the  firebrand  shall  glow 

O'er  your  city  of  woe, 
And  the  axe  at  the  root 

Of  your  grandeur  shall  lie. 


"  Why  comes  the  proud  Pharisee, 

Scorn  in  his  eye  ? 
Why  comes  the  proud  Sadducee, 

Looking  a  lie? 
Ye  sons  of  the  hypocrites, 

Howl  in  despair. 
Ye  kindred  of  Spoil, 

In  its  doom  ye  shall  share. 
For  the  harvest  is  gathered, 

The  fan  in  the  hand, 

Ye  bosoms  of  stone, 

Ye  infidels,  groan  ; 
In  the  day  of  His  vengeance, 

What  mortal  shall  stand  ? 


"He  stoops  from  His  throne, 

Yet  is  mighty  to  save  ; 
The  prisoner  of  Death, 

Yet  the  Lord  of  the  Grave  ! 
The  King  of  all  Kings 

As  a  slave  shall  expire, 
But  His  words  shall  be  Spirit, 

His  Baptism  be  fire. 


Sacred  Poems.  45 

Then  Judah  shall  perish 

In  famine  and  gore, 

Till  the  trumpet  shall  sound, 

And  the  dead  be  unbound, 
And  MESSIAH  be  Monarch, 

And  Time  be  no  more  !" 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


TBalaft  ano  TBalaam. 

XIV. 

PON  the  hill  the  Prophet  stood, 
King  Balak,  in  the  rocky  vale ; 
Around  him,  like  a  fiery  flood, 

Flashed  to  the  sun  his  men  of  mail. 


'Twas  Morn — 'twas  Noon — the  Sacrifice 
Still  rolled  its  sheeted  flame  to  Heaven, 

Still  on  the  Prophet  turned  their  eyes ; 
Nor  yet  the  fearful  CURSE  was  given. 

Twas  Eve — the  flame  was  feeble  now, 
Was  dried  the  victim's  burning  blood. 

The  sun  was  sinking  broad  and  low. 
King  Balak  by  the  Prophet  stood. 

"  Now,  curse,  or  die  ! "    The  echoing  roar 
Around  him.  like  a  tempest  came ; 

Again  the  altar  streamed  with  gore, 
And  flushed  again  the  sky  with  flame. 

The  Prophet  was  in  prayer ;  he  rose, 
His  mantle  from  his  face  was  flung ; 

He  listened,  where  the  mighty  foes 

To  Heaven  their  evening  anthem  sung. 


46  Sacred  Poems. 

He  saw  their  camp,  like  sunset  clouds, 
Mixed  with  the  Desert's  distant  blue ; 

Saw  on  the  plain  their  marshalled  crowds, 
Heard  the  high  strain  their  trumpets  blew. 


"  Young  lion  of  the  Desert  sand," 
Burst  from  his  lip  the  Prophet-cry, 

"  What  strength  before  thy  strength  shall  stand  ? 
What  hunter  meet  thee,  but  to  fly? 


"  Come,  Heaven-crowned  Lord  of  Palestine, 
Lord  of  her  plain,  her  mountain-throne  ; 

Lord  of  her  olive  and  her  vine : 

Come,  King  of  Nations,  claim  Thine  own." 


"  Be  Israel  cursed  !"  was  in  his  soul, 
But  on  his  lip  the  wild  words  died ; 

He  paused,  till  night  on  Israel  stole  : 
Still  was  the  fearful  curse  untried. 


Now  wilder  on  his  startled  ear, 

From  Moab's  hills  and  valleys  dim, 

Rose  the  fierce  clash  of  shield  and  spear, 
Rose  the  mad  yells  of  Baalim. 


"  How  shall  I  curse  whom  God  hath  blest  ? 

With  whom  He  dwells,  with  whom  shall  dwell  ?" 
He  clasped  his  pale  hands  on  his  breast ; 

"  Then  be  thou  blest,  O  Israel  !" 


A  whirlwind  from  the  Desert  rushed, 
Deep  thunders  echoed  round  the  hill, 

King,  Prophet,  multitude  were  hushed  ! 
The  thunders  sank,  the  blast  was  still. 


Sacred  Poems.  47 

Broad  on  the  East,  a  newborn  Star, 
On  cloud,  vale,  desert,  poured  its  blaze. 

The  Prophet  knew  the  SIGN  afar, 
And  on  it  fixed  his  shuddering  gaze. 

"  I  shall  behold  HIM,  but  not  now ; 

I  shall  behold  HIM,  but  not  nigh.— 
He  comes,  beneath  the  Cross  to  bow, 

To  toil,  to  triumph,  and  to  die. 

"  All  power  is  in  His  hand  ;  the  World 

Is  dust  beneath  His  trampling  heel. 
The  thunder  from  His  lips  is  hurled, 

The  heavens  beneath  His  presence  reel. 

"He  comes,  a  stranger  to  His  own ; 

With  the  wild  bird  and  fox  He  lies. 
The  King,  who  makes  the  stars  His  throne, 

A  wanderer  lives,  an  outcast  dies  ! 

"  Lost  Israel !  on  thy  diadem 

What  blood  shall  for  His  blood  be  poured  ? 
Torn  from  the  earth  thy  royal  stem — 

Victim  of  famine,  chain,  and  sword." 

The  Prophet  paused,  in  awe ; — the  STAR 
Rose  broader  on  the  boundless  plain, 

Flashing  on  Balak's  marshalled  war, 
On  mighty  Israel's  farthest  vane. 

And  sweet  and  solemn  echoes  flowed 
From  harps  of  more  than  mortals  given. 

Till  in  the  central  cope  it  glowed, 

Then  vanished  in  the  heights  of  Heaven  ! 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


48  Sacred  Poems. 


XV. 


England's  gilded  halls  of  state 
I  crossed  the  Western  Minster's  gate, 
And,  'mid  the  tombs  of  England's  dead, 
I  heard  the  Holy  Scriptures  read. 

The  walls  around  and  pillar'd  piers 
Had  stood  well-nigh  seven  hundred  years  ; 
The  words  the  priest  gave  forth  had  stood 
Since  Christ,  and  since  before  the  Flood. 

A  thousand  hearts  around  partook 

The  comfort  of  the  Holy  Book  ; 

While  thousand  suppliant  hands  were  spread 

In  lifted  stone  above  my  head. 

In  dust  decay'd  the  hands  are  gone 

That  fed  and  set  the  builders  on  ; 

In  heedless  dust  the  fingers  lie 

That  hewed  and  heaved  the  stones  on  high  ; 

And  back  to  earth  and  air  resolv'd 

The  brain  that  planned  and  poised  the  vault 

But  undecay'd,  erect,  and  fair, 

To  heaven  ascends  the  builded  Prayer, 

With  majesty  of  strength  and  size, 
With  glory  of  harmonious  dyes, 
With  holy  airs  of  heavenward  thought 
From  floor  to  roof  divinely  fraught. 

Fall  down,  ye  bars  !  enlarge,  my  soul  ! 
To  heart's  content  take  in  the  whole  ; 
And,  spurning  pride's  injurious  thrall, 
With  loyal  love  embrace  them  all  ! 


Sacred  Poems.  49 

Yet  hold  not  lightly  home ;  nor  yet 
The  graves  on  Dunagore  forget ; 
Nor  grudge  the  stone-gilt  stall  to  change 
For  humble  bench  of  Gorman's  Grange. 

The  self-same  Word  bestows  its  cheer 
On  simple  creatures  there  as  here  ; 
And  thence,  as  hence,  poor  souls  do  rise 
In  social  flight  to  common  skies. 

For  in  the  Presence  vast  and  good, 
That  bends  o'er  all  our  livelihood, 
With  humankind  in  heavenly  cure, 
We  all  are  weak,  we  all  are  poor. 

His  poor,  be  sure,  shall  never  want 
For  service  meet  and  seemly  chant, 
And  for  the  Gospel's  joyful  sound 
A  fitting  place  shall  still  be  found ; 

Whether  the  organ's  solemn  tones 
Thrill  through  the  dust  of  warriors'  bones, 
Or  voices  of  the  village  choir 
From  swallow-haunted  eaves  aspire; 

Or,  sped  with  healing  on  its  wings, 
The  Word  solicit  ears  of  kings, 
Or  stir  the  souls,  in  moorland  glen, 
Of  kingless  covenanted  men. 

Enough  for  thee,  indulgent  Lord, 
The  willing  ear  to  hear  Thy  Word, — 
The  rising  of  the  burthen'd  breast — 
And  thou  suppliest  all  the  rest. 

Or  haply,  as  they  held  who  lie 
Where  Six-mile-water  murmurs  by, 
Thine,  too,  the  sigh,  and  Thine  the  call, 
Thou,  liberal  Lord,  providing  all. 

*  Samuel  Ferguson. 


50  Sacred  Poems. 

Cfje  J£>pmn  of  t&e  jFis&ermen, 

XVI. 

To  God  give  foremost  praises, 

Who,  'neath  the  rolling  tides, 
In  ocean's  secret  places, 

Our  daily  bread  provides ; 
Who  in  His  pasture  grazes 

The  flat  fish  and  the  round, 
And  makes  the  herring  'maces' 

In  shoaling  heaps  abound. 

Who,  in  the  hour  of  trial, 

When,  down  the  rattling  steep 
The  tempest's  wrathful  vial 

Is  poured  upon  the  deep, 
Gives  courage,  calm  .and  steady, 

Through  every  form  of  fear, 
And  makes  our  fingers  ready 

To  hand,  and  reef,  and  steer. 

Who,  when  through  drift  and  darkness 

The  reeling  hooker  flies, 
And,  rocks  in  ridgy  starkness, 

Athwart  our  bows  arise, 
Prompt  to  the  helm's  commanding, 

Brings  round  the  swerving  tree, 
Till,  into  harbour  standing, 

We  anchor  safe  and  free. 

And,  great  and  small  sufficing, 

In  Nature's  equal  law, 
That  rules  the  sun's  uprising. 

And  makes  the  mainsail  draw, 
Brings  round  His  erring  creatures 

To  seek  salvation's  ways, 
By  laws  surpassing  Nature's — 

To  God  give  foremost  praise. 

*  Samuel  Ferguson. 


Sacred  Poems.  51 

Cftree 


XVII. 

in,  Sweet  Thought,  come  in ; 
Why  linger  at  the  door  ? 
Is  it  because  a  shape  of  sin 

Denied  the  place  before  ? 
'Twas  but  a  moment  there ; 

I  chased  it  soon  away  -, 
Behold,  my  breast  is  clear  and  bare — 

Come  in,  Sweet  Thought,  and  stay. 
The  Sweet  Thought  said  me  "  No ; 

"  I  love  not  such  a  room, 
"  Where  uncouth  inmates  come  and  go, 

"And  back,  unbidden,  come: 
"  I  rather  make  my  cell 

"  From  ill  resort  secure, 
"  Where  love  and  lovely  fancies  dwell 

"  In  bosoms  virgin-pure." 

Oh,  Pure  Thought,  then  I  said, 

Come  thou,  and  bring  with  thee 
This  dainty  Sweetness,  fancy-bred, 

That  flouts  my  house  and  me. 
No  peevish  pride  hast  thou, 

Nor  turnest  glance  of  scorn 
On  aught  the  laws  of  life  allow 

In  man  of  woman  born. 
Said  he,  "  No  place  for  us 

"  Is  here  :  and,  be  it  known, 
"  You  dwell  where  ways  are  perilous 

"  For  them  that  walk  alone. 
"  There  needs  the  surer  road, 

"  The  fresher-sprinkl'd  floor, 
"  Else  are  we  not  for  your  abode" — 

And  turned  him  from  my  door. 

D    2 


52  Sacred  Poems. 

Then,  in  my  utmost  need, 

Oh,  Holy  Thought,  I  cried, 
Come  thou,  that  cleansest  will  and  deed, 

And  in  my  breast  abide. 
"  Yea,  sinner,  that  will  I, 

"  And  presently  begin ;" 
And  ere  the  heart  had  heav'd  its  sigh, 

The  Guest  Divine  came  in. 
As  in  the  pest-house  ward 

The  prompt  Physician  stands, 
As  in  the  leagur'd  castle  yard 

The  warden  with  his  bands, 
He  stood,  and  said,  "  My  task 

"  Is  here,  and  here  my  home  ; 
"  And  here  am  I,  who  only  ask 

"  That  I  be  asked  to  come." 


See  how  in  formless  flight 

The  ranks  of  darkness  run, 
Exhale  and  perish  in  the  light 

Stream'd  from  the  risen  sun ; 
How,  but  a  drop  infuse 

Within  the  turbid  bowl, 
Of  some  elixir's  virtuous  juice, 

It  straight  makes  clear  the  whole; 
So  from  before  His  face 

The  fainting  phantoms  went, 
And,  in  a  clear  and  sunny  place, 

My  soul  sat  down  content ; 
For — mark  and  understand 

My  ailment  and  my  cure— 
Love  came  and  brought  me,  in  his  hand, 

The  Sweet  Thought  and  the  Pure. 

*  Samuel  Ferguson. 


Sacred  Poems.  53 

Cfjree 

XVIII. 


^TYI^Y  breast  was  as  a  briary  brake 

^T^     I  lacked  the  rake  and  shears  to  trim ; 

Or  like  a  deep,  weed-tangl'd  lake, 

Where  man  can  neither  wade  nor  swim  : 
So  full  of  various  discontent 

At  things  I  had  not  height  to  scan, 

Nor  breadth  nor  depth  to  comprehend, 
It  seemed  as  though  creation's  end 

Were  but  enigma,  and  God's  plan 
One  knotted  hard  entanglement. 


Oh  !  glad  the  morning  light  we  greet, 

That  shows  the  pathway  newly  found  ; 
And  grateful  to  the  oaring  feet 

The  touch,  at  last,  of  solid  ground. 
A  breath  :  beheld  in  clearer  air, 

The  path  surmounts  the  mountain  sides  ; 
A  touch  :  the  knots  asunder  fall, 
And  from  the  smooth  uncoiling  ball, 

With  easy  play  the  shuttle  glides. 
To  weave  the  robe  the  righteous  wear. 


Ah  me  !  for  such  a  robe  unfit, 

How  shall  I  let  my  face  be  shown, 
Or  venture  at  the  feet  to  sit 

Of  them  that  sit  around  the  Throne  ? 
He  who  upon  the  darken'd  eyes 

Has  breathed,  and  touched  the  chords  within, 
Will  order  all  aright.     Till  then, 
Here  let  me,  in  the  ways  of  men, 
Walk  meekly  ;  and  essay  to  win 
The  righteous  joy  this  life  supplies. 

*  Samuel  Ferguson. 


54  Sacred  Poems. 

Cfte  ^tillage  Pastor. 

XIX. 


f|7)EAR  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 

•"*      And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild; 

There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 

The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 

A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 

And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 

Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 

Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place ; 

Unskilful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ; 

Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 

More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 

His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 

He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain. 

The  long  remember'd  beggar  was  his  guest, 

Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 

The  ruin'd  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 

Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allow'd ; 

The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 

Sate  by  his  fire  and  talked  the  night  away ; 

Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or  tales  of  sorrow  done, 

Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 

Pleas'd  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 

And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe ; 

Careless  their  merits,  or  their  faults  to  scan, 

His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side ; 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 
He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all. 
And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new  fledg'd  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 


Sacred  Poems.  55 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain,  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place ; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  ready  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran  ; 
E'en  children  followed  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  exprest, 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distrest ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  grief  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Cotoet  ann  tbe  Dpen  air. 

XX. 

' EARNING  sat  in  a  lonely  tower, 

Heaping  knowledge  hour  by  hour ; 
Searching  through  all  lives,  all  forces, 
All  beginnings,  and  all  courses ; 
Tracing  on,  from  old  to  new, 
How  rounded  worlds  from  chaos  grew ; 
Sifting  all  matter's  form  and  plan, 
Within  the  utmost  reach  of  man  ; 


56  Sacred  Poems. 

All  dependence,  all  relation, 
Through  the  system  of  creation. 
Of  man's  minds,  too,  and  its  modes, 
Disentangling  all  the  nodes, 
To  that  limit  where  extremes 
Interpenetrate  like  dreams, 
Where  the  eager  wings  in  vain 
Struggle  madly  to  sustain 
The  soul  in  void ; — where  rises  ever 
A  wall  of  blank  to  man's  endeavour. 

One  day  came  a  shepherd  lad 

To  where  Learning  plied  his  task ; 

And  of  him  did  Learning  ask 
What  knowledge  was  the  best  he  had? 
"  A  crowded,  various  earth  is  spread 

Around  my  footsteps,"  said  the  youth : 
"  A  great  heaven  is  above  my  head. 

To  love  and  hope  in  simple  truth, 
To  reverence  God,  whate'er  befall, — 
This  is  best,  this  is  all." 

Then  did  Learning  take  the  boy, 

And  teach  him  all  that  he  could  teach ; 

And  after  many  years  he  said — 

"All  knowledge  in  the  human  reach 

Is  thine  to  use  and  to  enjoy. 

What  count'st  thou  best  ?"     He  answer  made  : 

"  Increase  of  knowledge  is  good  and  sweet, 

That  the  soul  may  shun  deceit ; 

And  the  best  is  this,  in  sooth — 

To  love  and  hope  in  simple  truth, 

To  reverence  God,  whate'er  befall. 

This  is  best,  this  is  all." 

*  William  Allingham. 


Sacred  Poems.  57 

"  letmtri  ffl>cuio&" 

XXI. 

trouble  for  my  sin,  I  cried  to  God ; 
To  the  Great  God  who  dwelleth  in  the  deeps, 
The  deeps  return  not  any  voice  or  sign. 

But  with  my  soul  I  know  thee,  O  Great  God ; 
The  soul  thou  gavest  knoweth  thee,  Great  God ; 
And  with  my  soul  I  sorrow  for  my  sin. 

t 

Full  sure  I  am  there  is  no  joy  in  sin, 
Joy-scented  Peace  is  trampled  under  foot, 
Like  a  white  growing  blossom  into  mud. 

Sin  is  establish'd  subtly  in  the  heart 

As  a  disease  ;  like  a  magician  foul 

Ruleth  the  better  thoughts  against  their  will. 

Only  the  rays  of  God  can  cure  the  heart, 
Purge  it  of  evil :  there's  no  other  way 
Except  to  turn  with  the  whole  heart  to  God. 

In  heavenly  sunlight  live  no  shades  of  fear ; 
The  soul  there,  busy  or  at  rest,  hath  peace ; 
And  music  floweth  from  the  various  world. 

The  Lord  is  great  and  good,  and  is  our  God. 
There  needeth  not  a  word,  but  only  these : 
Our  God  is  good  ;  our  God  is  great.    'Tis  well. 

All  things  are  ever  God's ;  the  show  of  things 
Are  of  men's  fantasy,  and  warp'd  with  sin  ; 
God,  and  the  things  of  God,  immutable. 


58  Sacred  Poems. 

O  great,  good  God,  my  pray'r  is  to  neglect 

The  shows  of  fantasy,  and  turn  myself 

To  thy  unfenced,  unmeasured  warmth  and  light  ! 


Then  were  all  shows  of  things  a  part  of  truth ; 
Then  were  my  soul,  if  busy  or  at  rest, 
Residing  in  the  house  of  perfect  peace  ! 

*  William  Allingham. 


XXII. 


2f  MESSENGER,  that  stood  beside  my  bed, 
^     In  words  of  clear  and  cruel  import  said, 
(And  yet  methought  the  tone  was  less  unkind), 
"  I  bring  thee  pain  of  body  and  of  mind." 


Each  gift  of  each  must  pay  a  toll  to  me; 
Nor  flight,  nor  force,  nor  suit  can  set  thee  free ; 
Until  my  brother  come,  I  say  not  when  : 
Affliction  is  my  name,  unlov'd  of  men." 


I  swooned,  then,  bursting  up  in  talk  derang'd, 
Shatter'd  to  tears ;  while  he  stood  by  unchang'd. 
I  held  my  peace,  my  heart  with  courage  burn'd, 
And  to  his  cold  touch  one  faint  sigh  returned. 


Undreamt-of  wings  he  lifted  :  "  For  a  while 
I  vanish.     Never  be  afraid  to  smile 
Lest  I  waylay  thee  :  curse  me  not ;  nay,  love ; 
That  I  may  bring  thee  tidings  from  above." 


Sacred  Poems.  59 

And  often  since,  by  day  or  night,  descends 
The  face  obdurate  ;  now  almost  a  friend's. 
Oh  !  quite  to  Faith ;  but  Frailty's  lips  not  dare 
The  word.     To  both  this  angel  taught  a  pray'r. 

"  Lord  God,  thy  servant,  wounded  and  bereft, 
Feels  thee  upon  his  right  hand  and  his  left ; 
Hath  joy  in  grief,  and  still  by  losing  gains ; — 
All  this  is  gone,  yet  all  myself  remains  !" 

*  William  Allingham. 


TBunal  of 


XXIII. 

Y  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave. 
And  no  man  knows  that  sepulchre, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er, 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod, 
And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 


That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  pass'd  on  earth  ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling, 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth  — 
Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  back  when  night  is  done, 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the  great  sun. 

Noiselessly  as  the  spring-time 
Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves, 

And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills, 
Open  their  thousand  leaves  ; 


60  Sacred  Poems. 

So  without  sound  of  music, 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept, 
Silently  down  from  the  mountain's  crown, 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle, 

On  grey  Beth  Peer's  height, 
Out  of  his  lonely  eyrie, 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight ; 
Perchance  the  lion  stalking, 

Still  shuns  that  hallowed  spot, 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard, 

That  which  man  knoweth  not 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth, 

His  comrades  in  the  war, 
With  arms  reversed  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  his  funeral  car  ; 
They  show  the  banners  taken, 

They  tell  his  battles  won, 
And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed, 

While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land, 

We  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honour'd  place 

With  costly  marble  drest, 
In  the  great  minster  transept 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 
And  the  organ  rings,  and  the  sweet  choir  sings 

Along  the  emblazon'd  wall. 

This  was  the  truest  warrior 

That  ever  ttuckled  sword  ; 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breath'd  a  word. 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  his  golden  pen 
On  the  deathless  page  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 


Sacred  Poems.  61 

And  had  he  not  high  honour, 

The  hill  side  for  a  pall, 
To  lie  in  state,  while  angels  wait . 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall, 
And  the  dark  rock-pines,  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave, 
And  God's  own  hand  in  that  lonely  land 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave. 

In  that  strange  grave  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncoffin'd  clay 
Shall  break  again,  O  wondrous  thought ! 

Before  the  Judgment  day. 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapt  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife,  that  won  our  life, 

With  the  Incarnate  SON  OF  GOD. 


O  lonely  grave  in  Moab's  land  ! 

O  dark  Beth-peor's  hill  ! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  His  mysteries  of  grace, 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell, 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  hidden  sleep 

Of  him  He  loved  so  well. 

*  Mrs,  Alexander. 


Cfte  ClouD  on  t&e  Cafaernacle* 

XXIV. 


the  Presence-cloud  of  God, 
His  Ark  enshrouded  lay  ; 
No  airs  that  kissed  the  desert  sod, 
Might  breathe  that  mist  away. 


62  Sacred  Poems. 

So  wrapp'd  their  own  soft  leaves  amid, 

The  silver  lilies  grow, 
So  lies  the  golden  chalice  hid 

Beneath  the  veil  of  snow. 

But  when  the  crescent  moon  from  far 
Led  up  her  countless  train, 

A  brighter  light  than  any  star, 
Glowed  on  the  darken'd  plain. 

The  wild  beast  skulking  for  his  prey, 
Shunned  that  unearthly  blaze, 

The  desert  bird  fled  fast  away, 
Or  slyly  came  to  gaze  : — 

As  outcasts  wandering  to  and  fro, 
Pause  by  the  lighted  hall, 

And  watch  the  gleam  along  the  snow 
From  the  high  casements  fall : 

And  eyes  as  wild,  with  wistful  glance, 
Watched  where  that  cloud  was  hung, 

The  warrior  leaning  on  his  lance, 
The  Priest  with  stave  unslung, 

With  many  a  day  the  banners  bright, 
Drooped  listless  in  the  heat, 

And  children  in  their  mother's  sight 
Played  down  the  tented  street. 

It  rose,  and  over  hill  and  dale, 
The  pennons  broad  were  flung — 

The  Levite  took  the  purple  veil, 
The  silver  trumpets  rung. 

And  onward  boldly  Israel  trod 
Wide  plain,  or  mountain  grey, 

While,  silent  as  the  hand  of  God, 
It  pointed  out  the  way. 


Sacred  Poems.  63 

But  more  than  fire  in  night's  dark  face, 

Than  mists  when  suns  are  red, 
The  Presence-cloud  of  love  and  grace, 

That  Christ  doth  on  us  shed : — 


The  cloud  that  goes  before  our  fears, 

And  conquers  every  foe, 
The  calm  sweet  light  that  glows  and  cheers, 

When  hearts  beat  cold  and  low. 


Rise  up,  O  Lord  !  and  scatter  Thou 

Our  pride,  and  lust,  and  hate, 
The  sins  that  line  the  mountain  brow, 

And  throng  the  city  gate. 

Return,  O  Lord  !  when  sad  and  low 

Beneath  the  desert  skies, 
We  pause  in  weariness  or  woe, 

With  salt  tears  in  our  eyes. 

Come,  gentle  as  a  drooping  cloud, 

Sweet  as  a  summer  star, 
With  Thine  own  Self  ourselves  enshroud, 

And  lead  this  weary  war. 

*  Mrs.  Alexander. 


XXV. 


en  of  the  Lord  God  planted 
Eastward  in  Eden  in  the  days  of  old, 
Where  the  large  blossoms  and  the  fruits  enchanted 
That  filled  the  earliest  tale  our  mothers  told  ? 


64  Sacred  Poems. 

Lingers  it  yet,  kept  by  an  Angel  warden, 
Over  the  purple  mountains  far  away — 
Untouched,  since  sinless  Adam  dressed  the  garden, 
And  the  Lord  walked  there  in  the  cool  of  day  ? 

Nay,  ask  not — wherefore  should  our  spirits  venture 
Over  the  eastern  hills — beyond  the  bars, 
Where  the  broad  sun  girt  with  his  rosy  cincture 
Comes  burning  up,  and  darkens  all  the  stars  ? 

Why  should  we  wish  o'er  sea  and  desert  going 
To  find  the  vision  true  in  some  far  land, 
To  dwell  beside  the  gate — and  hear  the  flowing 
Of  the  great  river  with  its  golden  sand  ? 

The  font  stands  yet  in  many  a  church's  portal, 
The  prayers  still  echo  round  where  we  were  made 
Heirs  of  an  Eden  beautiful,  immortal, 
Where  never  serpent  glided  through  the  glade. 

There  flows  eternally  the  gifted  river, 
Whose  healing  wave  is  as  the  crystal  clear, 
There  grows  the  tree  of  life  that  sheddeth  never 
Its  twelve  bright  fruits  renewed  twelve  times  a  year. 

For  us  that  cooling  wave,  for  us  the  beauty 
Of  that  bright  place  that  has  nor  sun,  nor  night, 
If  but  by  Christ's  dear  grace,  in  love  and  duty, 
We  walk  below  like  children  of  the  light. 

So  may  we  dream  of  those  invisible  bowers, 
The  water's  tremulous  flow,  the  flowery  sod, 
Hopeful  that  Christ's  new  Eden  shall  be  ours, 
The  home  of  saints,  the  Paradise  of  God. 

*  Mrs.  Alexander. 


Sacred  Poems.  65 


XXVI. 

ISE  up,  rise  up,  O  Rahab ; 

And  bind  the  scarlet  thread 
On  the  casement  of  thy  chamber, 
When  the  battle  waxeth  red. 

From  the  double  feast  of  Gilgal, 
From  Jordan's  cloven  wave, 

They  come  with  sound  of  trumpet, 
With  banner  and  with  glaive. 

Death  to  the  foes  of  Israel ! 

But  joy  to  thee  and  thine, 
To  her  who  saved  the  spies  of  God, 

Who  shows  the  scarlet  line  ! 


Twas  in  the  time  of  harvest, 
When  the  corn  lay  on  the  earth, 

That  first  she  bound  the  signal 
And  bade  the  spies  go  forth. 

For  a  cry  came  to  her  spirit 
From  the  far  Egyptian  coasts, 

And  a  dread  was  in  her  bosom 
Of  the  mighty  Lord  of  Hosts. 

And  the  faith  of  saints  and  martyrs 
Lay  brave  at  her  heart's  core, 

As  some  inward  pulse  were  throbbing 
Of  the  kingly  line  she  bore. 


66  Sacred  Poems. 

As  there  comes  a  sudden  fragrance 
In  the  last  long  winter's  day, 

From  the  paly  silken  primrose, 
Or  the  violet  by  the  way. 

And  we  pause,  and  look  around  us, 
And  we  feel  through  every  vein 

That  the  tender  spring  is  coming 
And  the  summer's  rosy  reign. 

In  the  twilight  of  our  childhood, 
When  youth's  shadows  lie  before, 

There  come  thoughts  into  our  bosoms 
Like  the  spies  to  Rahab's  door. 

And  we  scarcely  know  their  value, 
Or  their  power  for  good  or  ill, 

But  we  feel  they  are  God's  angels, 
And  they  seek  us  at  His  will. 

And  we  tremble  at  their  presence, 
And  we  blush  to  let  them  forth, 

In  some  word  of  tender  feeling, 
Or  some  deed  of  Christian  worth. 


Yet  those  guests  perchance  may  witness 

In  that  awful  battle  day, 
When  the  foe  is  on  the  threshold, 

And  the  gates  of  life  give  way  : 

When  the  soul  that  seeks  for  safety, 
Shall  behold  but  one  red  sign — 

But  the  blood  drops  of  Atonement 
On  the  cross  of  Love  Divine  ! 

*  Mrs.  Alexander. 


Sacred  Poems,  67 


3rmour  of 


XXVII. 

"  4tORTH  from  the  camp  of  Israel 

J'      Whoso  will  match  with  me  ! 
The  mightiest  of  her  champions, 

The  foremost  of  her  three  !" 
And  high  and  fierce  and  haughty, 

In  front  of  Israel's  lines, 
Strode  up  and  down  the  giant 

That  led  the  Philistines. 


Philistia's  tented  thousands 

Lay  watching  in  the  rear 
The  tall  shield  borne  before  him, — 

The  brandish  of  his  spear  : 
Full  forty  days  defiant 

Rang  out  that  challenge  grim, 
While  in  the  hosts  of  Israel 

Was  none  that  answered  him. 


Then  up  and  spake  young  David, 

From  Judah's  pasture  sod — 
"  Uncircumcised  !  and  dares  he 

To  taunt  the  hosts  of  God  ? 
Less,  less  than  slaughter'd  lion 

His  looks  my  heart  appal  !" 
They  heard,  and  brought  the  stripling 

In  haste  before  king  Saul. 

"  Wilt  thou  engage  the  giant, 

That  art  a  beardless  boy  ? 
Then  gird  thee  with  mine  armour, 

Or  dare  not  that  wild  joy  !" 

£    2 


68  Sacred  Poems. 

But  he  said,  "  I  have  not  proved  it  :" 
Then  aimed  the  smooth  stone  well, 

And  trembling  fled  the  foemen 
As  prone  their  champion  fell ! 

Through  well  nigh  three  milleniums, 

Since  then,  the  Church  hath  passed, 
And  sounds  of  other  challenge 

Rise  awful  on  the  blast ; 
The  foe  without,  insulting — 

The  traitor  heart  within — 
And  all  around,  the  battle-ground 

That  God's  own  host  must  win. 

O  Jesu  Christ !  Thou  comest 

With  breastplate,  helm,  and  shield  ! 
Thou  sayest,  "  Take  the  Armour 

That  never  lost  a  field." 
O  King  !  O  conquering  Captain  ! 

We  gird  it  by  Thy  grace ; 
Strong  in  the  strength  it  giveth, 

This  scornful  foe  to  face  ! 

And  ever  through  the  muster 

Of  earthly  wars,  we  hear 
The  march  of  true  Crusaders — 

The  distant  victory-cheer : 
The  dawn  is  on  our  banner 

Of  days  when  war  shall  cease  : 
Our  feet  are  shod  for  battle 

With  the  Gospel  of  our  Peace  ! 

O  Saviour,  dearest  Saviour  ! 

Can  faith  be  wounded  sore 
If  guarded  by  Thy  breastplate— 

Thine  own  for  evermore  ? 
Can  busy  thought,  world-ranging, 

To  harm  or  loss  be  led, 
When  the  helm  of  Thy  salvation 

Shall  hold  the  weary  head  ? 


Sacred  Poems.  69 

We  turn  us  from  the  harness 

Of  this  world's  royal  shine  ! 
We  kneel  until  Thou  gird  us 

O  Saviour  Christ !  with  Thine  ! 
The  powers  of  hell  assail  it, 

And  find  it  foil  their  might ; 
'Tis  it  hath  won  the  battle 

For  all  the  saints  in  light  ! 

In  all  our  tribulation, 

In  all  time  of  our  wealth — 
In  sickness  and  in  weakness, 

In  weariness  and  health, 
May  faith  in  Thee  still  shield  us, 

Thy  banner'd  Cross  defend — 
Till  with  Thee,  crown'd  and  conquering, 

We  reach  the  glorious  end  ! 

*  Mrs.  Henry  Faussett  (Alessie  Bond). 


C6e  Cfjree  CfrilDren, 


XXVIII. 

'^Tf  WAS  on  the  plain  of  Dura 

^     The  multitudes  of  old 

Assembled  in  their  splendour 

Around  a  block  of  gold. 
The  counsellors  and  princes, 

The  great  ones  of  the  land, 
Were  met  in  pride,  and  a  herald  cried 

Aloud  the  king's  command  : 

"  What  time  ye  hear  the  music 

Of  cornet,  harp,  and  flute, 
Of  sackbut  and  of  psaltery, 

Of  dulcimer  and  lute  ; 


/o  Sacred  Poems. 

When  the  sound  of  all  rejoicing 
Still  higher  swells,  and  higher, 

Who  falls  not  down  to  the  god  of  gold 
Shall  burn  in  yonder  fire." 

Blared  wild  the  threatening  trumpets, 

Stole  sweet  the  winning  song 
Of  softer  music ;  prostrate 

Fell  that  besotted  throng  ! 
Forgot  the  God  who  made  them, 

And  yielded  soul  and  breath, 
And  life  and  limb,  that  they  held  of  Him, 

To  the  idol  of  their  death. 

Amid  the  recreant  thousands 

Were  faithful  found  but  three, 
Who  spake  brave  words  and  glorious, 

Who  bowed  no  guilty  knee. 
Abednego  and  Shadrach 

And  Meshach  stood  upright, 
And  spake  to  the  king  in  the  torture-ring, 

By  the  gleam  of  the  furnace  light  : 

"  We  will  not  serve  thine  image  ! 

We  bow  to  God  alone  ! 
Thine  utmost  might,  O  King,  is  nought 

Before  our  Monarch's  throne  ! 
Far  stronger  to  deliver 

Is  He,  than  thou  to  slay ; 
In  death  or  life,  in  peace  or  strife, 

Our  hearts  are  his  for  aye." 

Fast  bind  they  the  Three  Children 

In  hate  and  anger  fierce  ; 
But  the  red  tongues  of  the  furnace, 

The  murderers  only  pierce  ! 
Then  was  the  King  astonished — 

Uprose  he  then  in  haste, 
And  cried  aloud  to  the  servile  crowd 

As  wildly  forth  he  paced — 


Sacred  Poems.  7 

"  Cast  we  not  three  men  fetter'd 

And  bound,  in  yonder  flame  ? 
Lo  !  four  walk  through  it  scatheless — 

ONE  hath  the  holiest  Name  ! 
Methinks  they  love  the  furnace 

Than  royal  halls  more  dear, 
While  He  is  walking  with  them, 

And  while  His  voice  they  hear  !" 

In  penitence  and  sorrow 

The  proud  king  trembles  now, 
And  low  in  prayer  for  pardon 

Is  bent  his  haughty  brow. 
Forth  from  their  fiery  trial   ' 

The  three  pass  purified. 
Ah  !  theirs  is  gold,  of  worth  untold, 

With  whom  God's  gifts  abide  ! 

Is  it  brave  to  be  a  martyr  ? 

Sayest  thou,  "  No  lust  of  gold 
Could  make  me  bow  to  an  evil  thing 

Like  those  in  Dura  old"  ? 
Distrust  thyself,  O  spirit ! 

There  be  idols  of  the  heart — 
There  be  other  foes  than  thy  proud  soul 
knows 

To  draw  it  from  God  apart. 

Nought  breaks  the  power  of  idols 

But  Christ's  dear  love  within  ; 
'Tis  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter, 

Who  is  strong  to  cleanse  from  sin. 
With  Him  the  fiery  furnace, 

Or  the  hard,  cold  world  again, 
Is  a  safer  place  than  what  finds  grace 

In  the  eyes  of  godless  men. 

*  Mrs.  Henry  Faussett  (Alessie  Bond). 


72  Sacred  Poems. 


€f>e  Deatf)  of  g>,  Colttmfm, 


XXIX. 


last  faint  glimmer  of  sunset  gold 
Hath  sunk  in  the  western  wave  ; 
Over  the  isle  the  night-winds  blow, 
Tenderly  sighing,  moaning  low, 
Like  mourners  o'er  a  grave. 


Tis  only  meet  that  his  life  should  close 
Where  he  watched  and  toiled  so  well; 
How  is  he  keeping  this  last,  sad  night, 
That  the  taper  burns  so  late,  so  bright 
In  his  sternly  simple  cell  ? 


A  scribe  sits  there  with  parchment  scroll — 

"  Now  haste  thee,  my  son,  and  write  ! 
Take  thou  no  rest  till  the  death-rest  fall, 
And  watch  thou,  too,  for  the  Master's  call, 
That  cometh  so  oft  at  night." 


The  monk  wrote  on,  with  eager  hand, 

No  other  sound  was  there ; 
For  the  grief  in  his  soul  might  find  no  breath 
In  the  presence  of  work — in  the  presence  of  death, 

Till  the  bell  should  sound  for  prayer. 


"  I  would  thou  hadst  closed  the  golden  psalm 

With  the  close  of  this  passing  life ; 
But  these  words  are  meet  for  my  last  farewell— 
They  will  call  the  next  brother  like  matin  bell 
To  pray  for  the  holy  strife." 


Sacred  Poems.  73 

The  words  that  looked  from  the  speaking  page, 

That  had  touched  so  deep  a  chord 
In  the  old  man's  heart,  would  thine  eyes,  too,  see  ? 
They  were,  "  Come  ye  children,  hearken  to  me, 

I  will  teach  you  the  fear  of  the  Lord." 

"  'Tis  the  midnight  bell  !  I  will  enter  in 
Where  my  children  kneel,  once  more ;" 

And  there  followed  one,  with  torch  a-light, 

To  guide  his  way  through  the  gusty  night 
To  the  lowly  entrance-door. 

Alone  he  passed  that  portal  dark, 

For  the  storm  had  quenched  the  lights  ; 

And  there,  as  he  knelt  on  the  ground  to  pray, 

His  soul  with  the  midnight  soared  away 
To  its  home  on  the  holy  heights. 

They  found  him  there,  the  smile  of  God 

Gleamed  calm  on  his  saintly  face  ; 
And  when  the  deep  hush  of  their  pain  was  o'er, 
And  they  bare  him  out  through  the  lowly  door, 

A  sweet   anthem  filled  the  place. 

They  laid  him  low  for  his  quiet  sleep 

By  the  Church's  western  bound — 
And  few  were  there  that  had  loved  him  best ; 
For  the  storm  beat  wild ;  and  of  all  the  rest 

No  boat  could  cross  the  Sound. 


The  days  grew  calm,  and  they  bore  him  back 

To  the  land  of  his  earliest  love ; 
And  a  coffin  was  laid  in  his  Own  green  Isle, 
For  her  balmy  tears,  and  her  proud,  sweet  smile, 

For  her  saint  in  the  rest  above. 

*  Mrs.  Henry  Faussett  (Alessie  Bond). 


74  Sacred  Poems. 


Do  tf)i0  in  JRememfirance  of 


XXX. 


MEMORY  !  O  Memory  ! 

How  full  thou  art  to-day  ! 
How  busy  with  the  years  gone  by- 
The  dear  ones  passed  away  ! 


O  Memory  !  O  Memory  ! 

This  changing  of  the  leaf — 
This  clear  September  air  and  sky — 

These  thoughts  of  joy  and  grief. 


That  quiet  rustling  of  the  trees 
Within  the  churchyard  calm — 

The  prayers  so  full  of  memories — 
The  sound  of  hymn  and  psalm  ! 


The  church's  aisle  their  feet  have  paced 

Who  rest  beneath  the  sod  ! 
This  very  page  those  eyes  have  traced 

Now  closed  in  sleep  with  God  ! 


O  Memory  !  O  Memory  ! 

Yet  is  there  one  thing  more 
That  takes  away  the  bitterness 

When  love's  great  deeps  run  o'er : 


One  more  remembrance,  dearer  still- 
Deeper  than  all  the  rest — 

That  calms  this  struggle  of  the  will, 
This  aching  of  the  breast. 


Sacred  Poems.  75 

It  is  the  thought  of  HIM  who  died 

For  us  upon  the  tree  : 
And  said,  "  Do  this,  thou  spirit  tried, 

In  memory  of  ME  !" 

Ah  !  blessed  Jesus  !  more  than  wine 

Of  passing  earthly  joy, 
We  will,  we  do  remember  Thine, 

Whose  love  may  never  cloy  ! 

With  every  other  yearning  thought 

We  twine  the  peace  of  this  ! 
The  great  Redemption  Thou  hast  wrought — 

The  woe  that  won  our  bliss  ! 

*  Mrs.  Henry  Faussett  (Alessie  Bond). 


IBroften 


XXXI. 

WEARY  Souls,  whose  dreams  fly  fast  and  fleet 

Ere  yet  Life's  goal  is  won, 
The  Grave-grass  growing  high  about  our  feet 

Will  soon  shut  out  the  Sun. 
Beneath  the  broider'd  robe  and  costliest  guise 

We  see  the  ghastly  shroud, 
Dead  faces  haunt  us,  with  their  calm,  fix'd  eyes 

Through  all  the  glittering  crowd. 

The  years  will  not  give  back  our  ruined  days, 

Re-string  the  broken  Lute; 
Life's  Morning  glories,  Youth's  wild  hymns  of  praise- 

All  faded  —  all  are  mute. 
The  whelming  waves  of  dark  Eternity 

Surge  over  Throne  and  Crown, 


76  Sacred  Poems. 

Falling  like  rain-drops  on  that  hungry  sea. 

Nations  and  Worlds  go  down — 
Down  in  the  dark  abyss,  whence  never  voice 

Comes  back  to  tell  the  tale, 
And  bid  the  crush'd,  the  wreck'd,  the  wretched  to  rejoice 

In  Life  beyond  the  Veil. 


Hearken,  O  hearken,  souls  bereft  of  peace, 

Troubled  with  many  things, 
CHRIST'S  voice  alone  can  bid  the  Tempest  cease, 

And  still  thy  questionings. 
With  more  than  human  love  for  human  loss 

Those  soft  tones  plead  to  us, 
Those  outstretch'd  hands  once  nailed  upon  the  Cross 

Beseech,  appealing  thus  : 

"  Hast  thou  no  memory  of  the  tears  I  wept 

In  My  last  agony, 

'Mid  the  dark  olives,  while  the  faint  ones  slept 
In  lone  Gethsemane  ? 


"  For  thee  upon  My  fainting  form  was  flung 

The  mocking  purple  Pall, 
For  thee  upon  the  torturing  Cross  I  hung, 
And  drank  the  bitter  gall. 

"  On  My  pale  brow  the  circling  Crown  of  Thorn 

Its  impress  left  in  blood  ; 

But  sharper  were  men's  words  of  taunting  scorn, 
Of  Love  and  Grace  withstood. 


"  For  thee  I  trod  the  Hades'  halls  of  gloom, 

For  thee  I  died ; 
For  thee  I  burst  the  folded  Gates  of  Doom, 

And  now  beside 

The  Judgment  Seat  of  God  for  thee  I  plead— 
I — Christ  the  Crucified." 


Sacred  Poems.  77 

O  Christ !  our  brows  drip  blood,  our  joys  lie  dead, 

Pierced  through  with  many  spears, 
Life  is  but  one  long  agony,  a  dread 

Gethsemane  of  tears. 
We,  too,  with  faint  lips  to  the  Heavens  might  pray — 

Lama  Sabacthani  ! 
O  God,  O  God,  let  this  Cup  pass  away, 

Or  teach  us  how  to  die  ! 

*  Lady   Wilde. 


aspirations  for  Deatfn 

(From  the  Spanish  of  Santa  Teresa). 

'Muero,  porque  no  muero.' 

XXXII. 

SOUL,  held  prisoner  out  of  reach 

Of  God's  great  glory  in  this  gloom 
Of  life,  as  in  a  living  tomb ; 
O  God,  whose  mercy  I  beseech, 
When  will  my  spirit  rend  the  chain 
Of  this  dark  prison-house  of  pain, 
Where  weeping,  pining,  faint  I  lie, 
And  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 

How  vain  this  only  life  I  know  ! 

This  bitter  cup  from  poisoned  springs, 

These  soiled  and  broken  spirit  wings, 
Stained  with  my  sins  and  dark  with  woe ; 
These  fetters  bound  upon  my  feet, 
That  fain  would  run  their  Lord  to  greet, 

And  from  my  soul  goes  up  the  cry, 

I  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 


7  8  Sacred  Poems. 

Here  all  is  weak  and  poor  and  frail — 
Even  when  my  life  with  Thine  is  blent 
In  Thy  most  Holy  Sacrament, 

I  long  for  death  to  lift  the  veil ; 

And  if  the  death-psalm,  low  and  faint, 

Is  chanted  for  some  dying  saint, 

My  prayer  goes  upward  with  a  sigh — 
I  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 


Death  brings  alone  the  soul's  release 
From  all  this  weary,  worldly  strife, 
For  life  is  death,  and  death  is  life, 

And  through  the  grave  we  pass  to  peace ; 

O  mournful  exile  of  our  years, 

This  life  begun  and  closed  in  tears  ! 
In  death  I  hope,  to  death  I  fly, 
And  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 


My  life  is  slain  with  sorrow's  sword, 

And  still  I  know  it  is  my  sin 

That  leaves  me  this  low  world  within ; 
Yet,  dead  lips  cannot  praise  Thee,  Lord — 
Oh,  to  breathe  forth  my  soul's  desire, 
My  burning  love,  with  lips  of  fire  ! 

Until  that  moment  draweth  nigh, 

I  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 


To  stand  within  the  Golden  Gate, 
Bathed  in  the  effluent  light  and  love 
Wherein  the  sphered  systems  move  ; 
To  see  the  circling  angels  wait 
Around  the  great  white  Throne  of  Him, 
The  Lord  of  all  the  Seraphim. 

0  blessed  life  beyond  the  sky  ! — 

1  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 


Sacred  Poems.  79 

My  life,  O  God,  I  give  to  Thee ; 

My  life — 'tis  all  I  have  to  give, 

And,  losing  it,  begin  to  live 
The  life  of  immortality. 
Are  we  not  bound  here  unto  death — 
His  bond-slaves,  as  the  Spirit  saith  ? 

0  give  me  freedom,  life  on  high  ! — 

1  die,  because  I  cannot  die. 

Life  shrouds  us  with  its  gloomy  pall ; 

Yet  still  through  blinding  mists  I  see 

Heaven's  holy  light  stream  down  on  me. 
O  God,  my  God,  on  Thee  I  call, 
That  soon  before  Thy  face  divine, 
For  ever  near  Thee,  wholly  Thine, 

My  soul  may  utter  forth  the  cry — 

I  live,  and  never  more  shall  die  ! 

*  Lady  Wilde. 


3(n  tbe 

XXXIII. 

EAD  me  a  tale  to-night,  my  Love, 
With  thy  voice  so  soft  and  low, 
For  my  heart  as  charmedly  waits  for  the  sound, 

As  the  earth  for  the  falling  snow. 
Yet,  not  from  the  pages  of  classic  lore 

Of  the  mighty  heroes  of  old, 
Tho'  their  deeds  of  glory  were  fitly  shrined 
In  Darius'  casket  of  gold. 

Nor  of  Chiefs  and  Vikings  who  drained  the  mead 

To  the  gods  in  their  lordly  halls ; 
Nor  of  knightly  cavalcades  sweeping  by 

A  leagured  city's  walls  : 


8o  Sacred  Poems. 

Nor  yet  would  I  aught  from  the  tragic  muse 

Of  her  dark  and  terrible  tale, 
For  on  every  line  some  passion  or  crime 

Hath  left  a  serpent  trail : 


Nor  of  human  sorrow  or  human  love, 

Or  the  toil  of  the  human  brain, 
Such  memories  fall  on  the  heart  like  fire 

And  I  long  for  the  gentle  rain. 
But  read  to  me  words  that  will  bring  me  peace, 

And  soothe  the  unquiet  breast, 
For  my  soul,  like  a  dove,  would  flee  away 

And  be  for  ever  at  rest. 


Some  verse  from  the  holy  and  sacred  Book, 

Transcending  all  human  lore, 
That  saith  unto  sin — I  condemn  thee  not, 

Go,  sinner,  and  sin  no  more  ! 
Yet  read  to  me  not  from  the  ancient  Law 

Of  the  curse  of  Jehovah's  ire, 
On  the  murmuring  lip  and  the  hearts  that  pined 

With  a  feverish,  vain  desire  : 


Nor  yet  of  the  shuddering,  bitter  cry 

Borne  on  the  midnight  blast, 
When  the  Angel  of  Death  through  Egypt's  land 

By  the  blood-stained  lintels  passed  : 
Nor  of  Israel's  march  with  the  Ark  of  God, 

Through  Arabia's  burning  land, 
For  it  mirrors  our  life — that  deadly  strife 

With  the  foe  upon  either  hand. 


And  take  me  not  up  to  Sinai's  mount 
Where  Moses  quaked  with  fear, 

And  the  bright  Shechinah  illumed  the  skies 
From  Horeb  to  Mount  Seir. 


Sacred  Poems.  81 

For  I  shrink  from  the  glare  of  the  prophet's  eyes, 

Denouncing  the  wrath  divine 
On  those  who  lavished  their  costliest  gifts 

To  build  up  an  idol's  shrine. 

But  read  me  the  words  of  the  loved  Saint  John, 

Evangel  of  holiest  faith, 
That  draws  the  soul  to  the  fount  of  light 

And  the  life  of  the  spirit's  breath. 
Read  me  the  tale  of  the  Saviour's  tears 

By  the  grave  where  Lazarus  slept, 
For  'tis  sweet  to  a  sinner's  heart  to  know 

That  the  Sinless  One  hath  wept. 

Read  of  the  Vine  whose  branches  we  are, 

Of  the  Shepherd  who  guards  the  fold, 
Of  the  Jasper  stones  and  the  gates  of  Pearl 

In  the  heavenly  City  of  gold. 
Where  no  pain  is,  neither  sorrow  nor  tears, 

Nor  the  shadow  of  human  death, 
For  the  saved  shall  drink  of  the  River  of  Life, 

Even  as  the  Spirit  saith. 

Read,  till  the  holy  and  blessed  words 

Fall  on  life's  fever-dream, 
With  a  holy  music,  tender  and  sweet 

As  the  Hebrew's  by  Babel's  stream. 
Read,  till  the  warm  tears  fall,  my  Love, 

With  thy  voice  so  soft  and  low, 
And  the  Saviour's  merits  will  plead  above, 

For  the  Soul  that  prayeth  below. 

*  Lady  Wilde. 


82  Sacred  Poems. 


J£mgar  in  t&e  Desert 


XXXIV. 

NJURED,  hopeless,  faint,  and  weary, 

Sad,  indignant,  and  forlorn, 
Through  the  desert  wild  and  dreary, 
Hagar  leads  the  child  of  scorn. 

Who  can  speak  a  mother's  anguish, 

Painted  in  that  tearless  eye, 
Which  beholds  her  darling  languish, 

Languish  unrelieved,  and  die. 

Lo !  the  empty  pitcher  fails  her, 

Perishing  with  thirst  he  lies, 
Death  with  deep  despair  assails  her, 

Piteous  as  for  aid  he  cries. 


From  the  dreadful  image  flying, 
Wild  she  rushes  from  the  sight ; 

In  the  agonies  of  dying 

Can  she  see  her  soul's  delight  ? 

Now,  bereft  of  every  hope, 

Cast  upon  the  burning  ground, 

Poor,  abandoned  soul  !  look  up, 
Mercy  have  thy  sorrows  found. 

Lo  !  the  Angel  of  the  Lord 

Comes  thy  great  distress  to  cheer ; 
Listen  to  the  gracious  word — 

See  divine  relief  is  near. 


Sacred  Poems.  83 

"  Care  of  Heaven  !  though  man  forsake  thee, 

Wherefore  vainly  dost  thou  mourn  ? 
From  thy  dream  of  woe  awake  thee, 

To  thy  rescued  child  return. 


"  Lift  thine  eyes,  behold  yon  fountain, 

Sparkling  'mid  those  fruitful  trees; 
Lo  !  beneath  yon  sheltering  mountain 
Smile  for  thee  green  bowers  of  ease. 


"  In  the  hour  of  sore  affliction 
God  hath  seen  and  pitied  thee ; 

Cheer  thee  in  the  sweet  conviction, 
Thou  henceforth  His  care  shalt  be. 


"  Be  no  more  by  doubts  distressed, 

Mother  of  a  mighty  race. 
By  contempt  no  more  oppressed, 

Thou  hast  found  a  resting  place." — 


Thus,  from  peace  and  comfort  driven, 
Thou,  poor  soul,  all  desolate, 

Hopeless  lay,  till  pitying  Heaven 
Found  thee,  in  thy  abject  state. 


O'er  thy  empty  pitcher  mourning 
'Mid  the  desert  of  the  world  ; 

Thus,  with  shame  and  anguish  burning, 
From  thy  cherished  pleasures  hurled : 


See  thy  great  Deliverer  nigh, 
Calls  thee  from  thy  sorrow  vain, 

Bids  thee  on  His  love  rely, 
Bless  the  salutary  pain. 
F  2 


Sacred  Poems. 

From  thine  eyes  the  mists  dispelling, 

Lo  !  the  well  of  life  He  shews, 
In  His  presence  ever  dwelling, 

Bids  thee  find  thy  true  repose. 

Future  prospects,  rich  in  blessing, 

Open  to  thy  hopes  secure  ; 
Sure  of  endless  joys  possessing, 

Of  an  heavenly  kingdom  sure. 

Mrs,  Henry  Tighe  (Mary  Blashford). 


3[mitateu  from  130t&  P0alm. 

XXXV. 

From  sorrow's  depths  to  Thee  I  cry, 
O  Thou,  who  knowest  my  inmost  fear  ! 

Th'  unuttered  prayer,  the  half-breathed  sigh, 
Now  let  it  reach  Thy  pitying  ear. 

Unworthy  as  I  am,  from  Thee 

My  soul  with  hope  shall  mercy  claim, 

For  Thou  hast  made  me — Thou  can'st  see, 
With  mercy,  crimes  which  man  would  blame. 

If  Thou  should'st  mark  with  eye  severe 

Thy  children's  faults,  ah  !  who  could  stand? 

Ah  !  who  with  boldness  could  appear, 
Or  bless  his  God's  creating  hand  ? 

Despair  might  then,  with  impious  voice, 
Mock  the  vain  tears  of  penitence, 

And  curse  existence — not  his  choice — 
Sad  boon  of  free  Omnipotence. 


Sacred  Poems.  85 

But  mercy  ever  dwells  with  Thee, 

Still  to  forgiveness  Thou  art  prone  ! 
That  all  with  fearful  hearts  may  flee, 

And  find  their  refuge  near  Thy  Throne. 

On  Thee,  with  humble  confidence, 

My  suffering  soul  for  peace  shall  wait, 
Thy  love  shall  comfort  speak,  and  hence 

Thy  word  my  hopes  shall  animate. 

The  languid  sufferer,  doomed  to  weep, 
While  painful  nights  their  course  delay, 

Hopeless  of  sweet,  refreshing  sleep, 
Not  more  desires  the  morning  ray, 

Than  this  poor,  harassed,  troubled  soul 
Hath  watched  for  inly-whispered  peace, 

Till  mercy  shall  its  fears  controul 
And  bid  its  anxious  sorrows  cease. 

And  still  at  mercy's  sacred  seat, 

Let  all  Thy  children,  Lord,  be  found; 
For  love  is  there,  and  at  Thy  feet 

Consoling  hopes  and  joys  are  found. 

Mrs.  Henry  Tighe  (Mary  Blashford). 


3[mitateD  from  3letemtafK 

CHAP,  xxxi.,  v.  15. 
xxxvi. 

ARK,  the  voice  of  loud  lament 

Sounds  through  Raman's  saddened  plain; 
There  cherished  grief,  there  pining  discontent, 
And  desolation  reign. 
There,  'mid  her  weeping  train 


86  Sacred  Poems. 

See  Rachel  for  her  children  mourn 

Disconsolate,  forlorn  ! 

The  comforter  she  will  not  hear, 
And  from  his  soothing  strains  she  hopeless  turns 
her  ear. 

Daughter  of  affliction,  peace, 

Let,  at  last,  thy  sorrows  cease, 

Wipe  thy  sadly  streaming  eye, 

Look  up,  behold  thy  children  nigh  : 

Lo  !  thy  vows  have  all  been  heard, 

See  how  vainly  thou  hast  feared  ! 

See,  from  the  destroyer's  land 

Comes  the  loved,  lamented  band  ; 

Free  from  all  their  conquered  foes 

Glorious  shall  they  seek  repose  ; 

Surest  hope  for  thee  remains, 

Smile  at  all  thy  former  pains ; 

Joy  shall  with  thy  children  come, 

And  all  thy  gladdened  bowers  shall  bloom. 

Mrs.  Henry  Tighe  (Mary  Blashford). 


"  arise,  fyt  calietf)  tbee," 

XXXVII. 

They  spake  to  him  of  old  who  sat 

In  darkness  by  the  way, 
But  heard  the  Saviour's  passing  feet, 

And  cried  to  Him  for  day ; 
They  spake  to  scorn,  they  spake  to  chide, — 

But  o'er  that  living  sea 
His  cry  went  up,  till  it  was  said, 

"Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 

The  suppliant  rose,  and  saw  his  Lord 

With  new  unclouded  sight, 
Bestowed  by  His  almighty  word 

Who  said,  Let  there  be  light. 


Sacred  Poems.  87 

And  them,  that  in  thy  dark  estate 

Hast  the  same  Lord  to  see, 
Why  sitt'st  thou  by  the  wayside  yet  ? — 

"Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 


Child,  in  thy  budding  years,  to  whom 

The  world  is  strange  and  new, 
He  bids  the  little  children  come — 

There  is  no  love  so  true ; 
No  arm  so  strong  as  His  spread  forth, 

With  welcome  warm  and  free, 
To  gather  in  His  lambs  from  earth — 

"Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 


Youth,  mounting  up  the  slippery  steep, 

With  hope  so  high  and  strong, 
Give  Him  thy  heart  to  save  and  keep, 

From  all  that  wreck  and  wrong. 
His  grace  shall  guide  thine  onward  path, 

His  love  thy  light  shall  be  ; 
From  sin,  from  sorrow,  and  from  death, 

"Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 


Man  of  the  busy  days,  immersed 

In  countless  cares,  and  schemes 
For  place  or  gold  to  have  or  hold, — 

Hast  thou  no  loftier  aims  ? 
Is  there  no  glorious  heaven  to  gain  ? 

No  wrath  to  fear  and  flee  ? 
Up  from  the  coil  of  mammon's  chain, 

"Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 


Thou  of  the  weary  head  and  grey, 
Whose  many  years  have  passed 

In  learning  all  is  vanity, 
Come  to  thy  Lord  at  last. 


88  Sacred  Poems. 

In  lovingkindness  still  He  waits, 
Thy  late  return  to  see ; — 

Come,  ere  the  shutting  of  the  gate  ; 
"Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 


Up  from  the  shifting  sands  of  time  ! 

Their  glory  is  but  dross ; 
Up  from  its  thousand  griefs,  and  climb 

Above  them  by  His  cross  ! 
Whate'er  thou  art,  whate'er  thy  part 

In  this  poor  world  may  be, 
Come  to  the  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life ; 

"  Arise,  He  calleth  thee." 


*  Frances  Browne. 


CfrilDren, 


XXXVIII. 

were  simple  of  speech  and  mind, 
Peasant  mothers  and  neighbours  kind, 
Met  in  the  shade  of  a  leafy  lime, 
At  the  sweet  midsummer's  twilight  time ; 
When  labour  rests  and  memories  wake, 
When  hearts  grow  sad  for  the  absent's  sake, 
Thus  of  their  absent  ones  they  spake  : 


One  said,  "  My  child  is  far  at  sea ; 

He  loved  the  wild  waves  more  than  me — 

More  than  his  native  vale  and  cot — 

And  chose  the  roving  sailor's  lot. 

Some,  but  they  might  have  feigned,  foretold 
That  he  was  born  for  a  captain  bold, 
And  would  come  back  with  fame  and  gold. 


Sacred  Poems.  89 

"  But  many  a  day  and  many  a  year, 

Is  the  sound  of  the  deep  sea  in  mine  ear ; 

And  many  a  stormy  winter's  night 

I  wake  with  a  strange  and  sore  affright : 

For  the  drowning  cries  of  shipwrecked  men 
Seem  mingling  with  the  tempest  then ; 
And  my  poor  heart  cannot  rest  again." 

Another  said,  "  My  child  this  day 

Dwells  in  a  city  far  away  : 

Lightly  the  young  bird  leaves  the  nest, 

Though  it  holds  the  hearts  that  love  him  best, 
For  sights  to  see,  and  for  wealth  to  win. 
Early  he  went  from  kith  and  kin, — 
Tis  said  they  prosper  who  thus  begin. 

"  But  still  as  the  seasons  come  and  go, 

His  thoughts  more  strange  and  distant  grow ; 

From  us  and  from  our  village  ways, 

The  city  hath  swallowed  up  his  days. 
And  oft  of  the  sin  and  of  the  snare 
That  lie  in  wait  for  his  footsteps  there, 
I  think  with  trembling  and  a  prayer." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  third,  "  hath  voyaged  o'er 

A  deeper  sea  to  a  farther  shore ; 

A  home  and  a  welcome  he  hath  found 

In  a  fairer,  mightier  city's  bound. 

Early  the  songs  of  its  happier  bowers 

Won  him  away  from  us  and  ours, 

Yet  my  tears  are  dry  that  fell  in  showers. 

"  Cold  hath  the  love  of  the  living  grown, 

But  I  know  that  his  is  still  my  own ; 

My  fears  grow  dark  and  my  hopes  grow  dim 

For  the  children  with  me,  but  not  for  him. 
Safe  to  the  Ark  hath  flown  my  dove  ; 
No  change  for  youth  and  no  chill  for  love, 
Is  found  in  our  Father's  house  above." 

*  Frances  Browne. 


90  Sacred  Poems. 


jFIotoet0  in  tfje  §>icft  Hoom. 

XXXIX. 

4t"AIR  in  their  sunny  beds  they  grew, 
•J'      Or  hung  on  the  trellised  bowers, 
Nor  lost  their  scent,  nor  paled  their  hue, 

As  a  nosegay  of  gathered  flowers  : 
But  fairer  still,  and  yet  more  sweet, 

With  the  summer's  breath  and  bloom, 
They  seemed  in  that  narrow  crowded  street, 

And  that  feeble  sufferer's  room. 

Alone,  but  not  companionless, 

Had  her  silent  hours  gone  by  ; 
From  the  dreary  sickroom's  narrow  space 

There  were  paths  that  reached  the  sky. 
The  page  that  tells  of  life  through  death 

Had  brightened  her  anxious  thought  ; 
And  the  summer  flowers  to  the  eye  of  faith 

The  good  land  nearer  brought. 

Thus  breaks  the  bloom  of  a  better  hope 

On  the  dimness  and  the  strife,— 
The  dusty  aims  and  the  narrow  scope 

Of  this  poor  and  passing  life  ; 
And  thus,  through  nature's  works  and  ways, 

Such  helps  to  faith  are  given, 
That  the  flowers  of  earth  may  lift  our  gaze 

To  the  fadeless  flowers  of  heaven. 

*  Frances  Browne. 


Sacred  Poems.  91 


Cfte  Hap  of  t&e  J£>eart  of 

XL. 


love  of  my  heart  is  Thy  Heart,  O  Saviour  dear, 
My  treasure  untold  is  to  hold  Thy  Heart  in  my  fond 
heart  here  : 
For  ah  !  it  is  known  that  Thine  Own  overflows  with  true  love 

for  me, 

Then  within  the  love-lock'd  door  of  my  heart's  inmost  core, 
let  Thy  Heart  ever  guarded  be. 

What  was  Thine  of  sorrow  and  pain,  O  Thou  who  in  Heaven 

dost  reign,  O  King  both  good  and  great, 
It  comes  not  into  my  mind  the  amount  to  find,  nor,  if  found, 

could  my  tongue  relate, 
The  bitter  anguish  and  smart  of  Thy  Sacred  Heart,  and  the 

spear-cleft  in  Thy  side, 
That  moved,  with  a  holy  awe  of  Thy  Sacred  Law,  even  kings 

on  their  thrones  of  pride. 

O  Father  !  O  Jesus  mine  !    who  by  Thy  Death  Divine,  with 

Life  our  souls  doth  warm, 
Thou  in  creation's  hour,  whose  plastic  power  made  Man  to 

Thine  own  blessed  form, 
Is  it  not,  O  Christ  !  O  King  !  a  cruel,  cruel  thing,  that  nought 

has  been  loved  by  me 
Save  sins  that  the  soul  defile,  save  all  things  base  and  vile, 

that  are  loathsome  unto  Thee  ? 


What  Moses  taught  of  Thy  lore,  Thy  laws  that  Moses  bore 
down  to  the  hosts  that  stood  in  awe  apart. 

Ah  !  little  effect  had  they,  by  night  or  day,  to  melt  my  ob- 
durate heart, 


*  From  the  Irish  of  Timothy  O'Sullivan,    an  Irish  poet,  who  was 
born  in  the  County  of  Cork  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century. 


92  Sacred  Poems. 

But  furrowing  their  fearful  path,  swept  envy  and  vengeful 
wrath,  and  excess  and  all  deeds  unclean, 

And  the  Holy  Laws  Thou  hast  made  I  disobeyed,  and  more, 
if  more  could  have  been. 


But  now,  with  anguish  spent,  sad,  sad  and  penitent,  confess- 

ing my  misdeeds  I  will  go 
Through    Ailbhe's   fertile   land   where  the  meadows  green 

expand,  through  Owen  where  the  pleasant  waters  flow, 
With  bitterness  of  soul,  lamenting  in  my  dole,  the  wickedness 

and  waste  of  my  lost  years, 
I  will  openly  proclaim  my  sorrow  and  my  shame,  and  mine 

eyes  will  tell  the  same  by  my  tears. 

And  when  returning  home,  at  length  I  come,  O  flower  of  all 

the  Orders  !  through  thy  prayers, 
Once  more  to  be  enrolled  Christ's  child,  and  in  His  fold 

protected  for  the  future  from  sin's  snares. 
The  prickly  furze  and  heath,  the  rock's  sharp  jagged  teeth 

that  stung  me  and  that  tortured  me  before, 
Shall  seem  smooth  silken  plains,  made  soft  by  summer  rains, 

and  satin  lawns  the  swift  scythe  hath  gone  o'er. 


Wandering  though  Thou  wast,  at  such  a  fearful  cost,  beloved 

Lord  and  King,  from  Heaven's  High  throne, 
And  for  our  simple  state,  made  sad  and  desolate,  in  a  way 

that  hnman  sense  hath  never  known  ; 
Yet  it  was  not  till  the  spear,  O  Christ  my  Saviour  dear,  a 

rent  through  Thy  side  its  rough  way  tore, 
And  a  home  of  shelter  there  to  a  ruined  world  laid  bare  —  a 

Home  in  Thy  Heart  for  evermore. 

*  Denis  Florence  MacCarthy. 


Sacred  Poems.  93 

Demotion. 

XLI. 

I  wander  by  the  ocean, 
When  I  view  its  wild  commotion, 
Then  the  spirit  of  devotion 

Cometh  near  ; 

But  it  fills  my  brain  and  bosom, 
Like  a  fear  ! 

I  fear  its  booming  thunder, 
Its  terror  and  its  wonder, 
Its  icy  waves,  that  sunder 

Heart  from  heart ; 
And  the  white  host  that  lies  under 

Makes  me  start ! 

Its  clashing  and  its  clangour 
Proclaim  the  Godhead's  anger — 
I  shudder,  and  with  langour 

Turn  away ; 
No  joyance  fills  my  bosom 

For  that  day  ! 

When  I  wander  through  the  valleys, 
When  the  evening  zephyr  dallies, 
And  the  light,  expiring,  rallies 

In  the  stream, 
That  spirit  comes  and  glads  me, 

Like  a  dream  ! 

The  blue  smoke  upwards  curling, 
The  silver  streamlet  purling, 
The  meadow  wild  flowers  furling 

Their  leaflets  to  repose, — 
All  woo  me  from  the  world 

And  its  woes  ! 


94  Sacred  Poems. 

The  evening  bell  that  bringeth 
A  truce  to  toil  outringeth, 
No  sweetest  bird  that  singeth 

Half  so  sweet, 
Not  even  the  lark  that  springeth 

From  my  feet  ! 

Then  see  I  God  beside  me, 
The  shelt'ring  trees  that  hide  me, 
The  mountains  that  divide  me 

From  the  sea, — 
All  prove  how  kind  a  Father, 

He  can  be. 


Beneath  the  sweet  moon  shining 
The  cattle  are  reclining, 
No  murmur  of  repining 

Soundeth  sad  : 
All  feel  the  present  Godhead, 

And  are  glad  ! 

With  mute  unvoiced  confessings, 
To  the  Giver  of  all  blessings 
I  kneel,  and  with  caressings 

Press  the  sod, 
And  thank  my  Lord  and  Father, 

And  my  God ! 


*  Denis  Florence  MacCarthy. 


Sacred  Poems.  95 


a  Eefwfee 

JFor  Jfclouminfi  t!?e  Deati?  of  a  Hear 
XLII. 

Otf  H  !  cruel  Reaper  of  the  Flowers  ! 
**     To  steal  that  Lily-bud  of  ours, 

Our  gentle  little  pet  !"- 
No,  you  of  little  faith,  not  so,  — 
Could  you  but  clearly  see  and  know, 

You'd  cease  your  vain  regret. 


Yours  was  too  delicate  a  flower 

For  Earth's  cold  wind  and  nipping  shower  : 

She  would  have  withered  here, 
Her  loving  little  heart  been  chilled, 
Her  sweet  bright  hopes  all  crushed  and  stilled 

In  this  ungenial  sphere. 

The  world  was  far  too  cold  and  bleak 
For  one  so  loving  and  so  meek, 

So  gentle  and  so  gay. 
How  could  she  in  this  wintry  soil 
Have  borne  the  dust,  and  pain,  and  toil 

Of  life's  long  weary  way  ? 

She  who  was  touched  by  every  breath, 
To  whom  an  unkind  word  was  death, 

Who  seemed  to  live  on  love. 
Who  needed  love's  bright  atmosphere, 
Love's  smiles  around  to  soothe  and  cheer, 

Love's  sunshine  from  above. 

How  could  she  bear  the  world's  cold  gaze, 
How  walk  its  rude,  rough,  jarring  ways 

'Mid  selfish  crowds  at  best  ? 
How  pass  among  the  heartless  throng, 
Where  each  one  plods  his  way  along, 

Unmindful  of  the  rest  ? 


g6  Sacred  Poems. 

She  who  loved  all,  and  for  all  grieved — 
Would  you  have  had  her  undeceived, 

To  learn  how  little  worth, 
How  very  little  love  and  truth 
(Once  we  have  passed  all-trusting  youth) 

We  find  on  this  cold  earth  ? 


Ah,  no  !  ere  this  you  have  confessed 
He  acted  kindly,  for  the  best, 

The  Gardener  of  the  Flowers, 
Transplanting  her,  in  youth's  soft  light, 
With  her  sweet  petals,  pure  and  white, 

Into  His  Father's  bowers. 


There,  there  she  tastes  a  perfect  bliss, 
With  no  desire  or  wish,  save  this, 

That  you  were  all  "  at  home  !" 
She  and  her  little  angel  brother 
Oft  gently  whisper  to  each  other, 

"  When  will  the  others  come  ?" 


Ah  ! — you've  a  toilsome  journey  yet, 
But  still  no  time  to  grieve  or  fret — 

Too  great  the  work  and  hard  ! 
By  dear-bought  triumphs  over  sin 
And  nature,  only,  can  you  win 

Your  Lillie's  bright  reward. 

But  courage  !  Sometimes,  'mid  your  sighs, 
Lift  up  on  high  your  thoughts  and  eyes, 
Gaze  on  the  bright,  blue,  cloudless  skies, 

So  tranquil,  calm,  and  fair — 
And  think  :  "  Amid  the  heavenly  bowers, 
Among  God's  choice  and  cherished  flowers, 
There  blooms  a  blossom  once  was  ours— 

Our  Lillie  waits  us  there  !" 

*  Mary  Stanislas  MacCarthy. 


Sacred  Poems.  97 

life 


XLIII. 

"  fTHEREAFTER  I  beheld,  and  lo  !  in  heaven, 
^     Clothed  with  white  robes,  and  palm  boughs  in 

their  hands, 

A  multitude,  too  great  for  man  to  number, 
Of  every  nation,  kindred,  people,  tongues, 
Stood  up  before  the  throne,  before  the  Lamb  ! 
Crying  aloud,  Salvation  to  our  God, 
Which  sitteth  on  the  throne,  and  to  the  Lamb  ! 
Then  all  the  Angels  stood  about  the  Throne, 
The  Elders,  and  the  four  miraculous  Beasts, 
And  fell  upon  their  faces,  worshipping  ; 
Saying,  Amen  !     Blessing  and  infinite  glory, 
Wisdom,  thanksgiving,  honour,  power,  and  might, 
Be  everlastingly  to  God  !  —  Amen  !" 

Time  hath  its  night  for  all  things  ;  sunset  hour 
Close  heavily  on  empires  as  o'er  Man. 
His  mortal  throe  surceased,  Man  lives  again  ; 
But  Nations  fall  annihilate  :  for  them, 
With  destiny  accomplished,  Hope  expires. 

Communities  are  as  the  Giant-brood 
Fabled  by  poets  old  ;  dread  archetypes 
Of  those  fierce  aggregates  of  human  strength 
Who  triumph  in  oppression,  and  set  up 
Laws,  at  their  wild  wills  varying,  which  for  them 
Stand  in  the  place  of  conscience,  till  corruption 
Eat  like  a  canker  to  their  heart  of  hearts, 
And  national  death  concludes  the  people's"guilt 

The  Devastators  perish  :  curses,  only, 
Come  frothing  on  the  surges  of  old  Time, 
And  break  in  ominous  thunder  on  our  shores. 
The  Persian  tyrant  and  the  Helot  slave 
Mingle  their  harmless  ashes  ;  priestly  spell 
Saved  not  the  Pharoahs  ;  nor  unbridled  will 
The  Demos  of  the  Athenian  Portico. 
The  Assyrian,  and  the  Mede,  the  Wolf  of  Rome, 
G 


98  Sacred  Poems. 

The  Macedonian  madman,  and  the  Hun, 
All  sowed  the  whirlwind  and  have  reaped  the  storm. 
In  vain  Earth  pleads  for  mercy,  and  the  stern 
Historian  graves  his  record  :  through  our  veins 
Still  the  old  poison  rolls ;  and  Lust  of  power 
Leads  on,  with  Death's  pale  courser  in  the  van. 

One  Brotherhood,  alone,  survives ;  not  born 
Of  fleshly  will,  nor  knit  by  mortal  ties, 
No  national  bond  confining.     The  wide  earth 
Is  as  a  tabernacle  to  the  Church  j 
And  heaven  her  home.     From  her  Ambition  draws 
No  precedents  :  She  inculcates  the  law 
Of  God ;  obedience  and  humility. 
Her  armoury  is  Grace,  her  buckler  Faith, 
Her  helm  Salvation,  and  the  Spirit  her  sword : 
Her  victories  are  over  worldly  snares ; 
Her  voice  proclaims  a  kingdom  not  of  earth  ; 
The  King  she  magnifies  is  King  of  kings  ! 

Led  by  her  counsel  to  that  lore  of  life 
By  heedful  lips  expounded,  Christians  know 
The  ways  of  Christ ;  pray  with  His  prayer ;  confess 
His  name ;  are  blest  with  His  beatitudes  ; 
Receive  His  Spirit ;  do  His  Father's  will. 
Steadfast  by  faith,  with  charity  enriched, 
Hope  leads  their  steps,  an  Angel-guide  to  heaven ; 
Weaning  from  low  affections,  solacing 
Disastrous  days.     Eternity  in  Time 
They  find,  and  Heaven  on  Earth  :  Death  falls  on  them 
Gently  as  twilight  sinks  on  wearied  eyes 
Of  traveller  belated ;  who,  afar, 
Descries  his  home  of  rest,  with  outstretch'd  arms 
Of  unforgotten  Loved-ones  at  the  gate. 

Hard  was  the  task  to  part  with  those  who  went 
Before,  and  will  be,  when  we  leave  our  Loved. 
But  Oh  !  what  rapture  to  regain  the  Lost  ! 
What  joy  to  welcome  those  we  left  behind  ! 
What  holy  gladness  in  the  consciousness 
Of  God's  approval ;  trials  past ;  high  crowns 
Apportioned ;  sense  of  faculties  enlarged  ; 
Capacities  unknown  developed ;  powers, 


Sacred  Poems.  99 

Like  mythic  Pallas,  without  visible  birth, 
Sprung  to  existence ;  and  the  mind  lit  up 
With  knowledge,  as  a  sunburst  on  the  sea ! 
Even  senses  there  may  be  we  know  not  of 
More  than  the  Blind  of  colours,  Deaf  of  sound  : 
Senses,  whose  fine  edge  contact  with  this  flesh 
Makes  blunt ;  or  without  object  here  below. 

Fashioned  like  Christ  Himself,  heirs  of  His  glory, 
We,  too,  shall  stand  before  the  throne  with  Spirits 
Of  just  men  perfected,  and  holy  angels 
Martyrs,  and  Confessors  !     Hunger  no  more 
Assailing  us,  nor  sorrow,  nor  disease, 
Nor  the  perplexities  of  care,  nor  fear 
Of  death.     The  Veil  that  shrouds  Omnipotence 
Withdrawn,  not  darkly  then,  as  through  a  glass, 
Shall  we  behold  our  God  ;  but  face  to  face 
Look  up  with  reverential  love,  with  songs 
Of  sweet  thanksgiving,  adoration  pure, 
Awe-tempered  joy,  hope  sparkling  from  our  eyes, 
And  Hallelujahs  through  our  lips  outpoured. 

Diviner  ecstasies  than  human  thought 
Can  compass,  or  poetic  vision  paint, 
Have  been  upon  this  earth.     They  who  behold, 
Not  by  the  visual  ray,  but  inward  light 
Intuitive,  have  spoken  :  they  have  told 
Who  felt  :  and  dying  Martyrs  cried  aloud, 
While  the  unfolding  heaven  above  their  head 
Disclosed  the  Beatifice  Vision  !    Vain 
Are  words,  even  such  as  leaped  from  Dante's  lip, 
These  holy  themes  descanting  :  colour  fades 
In  the  celestial  brightness  :  sound  expires 
Amid  the  choral  surge  antiphonal 
Of  Cherubim  ;  too  glorious  for  the  ken 
Of  mortal  brain  that  concourse  of  blest  Spirits 
Who  circle,  multitudinous  as  stars, 
Ring  within  ring,  the  inmost  throne  of  God, 
Gazing  with  rapturous  ardour ;  hearing,  feeling, 
As  breath  of  flowers  pervading  vernal  air, 
The  inexpressive  voicings  from  that  Throne 
Thrill  through  their  subtile  Beings. 

G  2 


ioo  Sacred  Poems. 

Ah  !  too  gross 

The  chain  which  Earth  hangs  round  us  :  we,  at  best, 
Fancy  the  unutterable  Glory  ;  yearning 
To  realize  the  phantoms  of  our  dream. 
We  judge  from  known  analogies  :  we  paint 
The  bliss  of  heaven  from  our  emotions  here  : 
That  conscious  spring  of  inarticulate  joy 
Which  overflows  the  eyes  with  quiet  tears, 
When  the  heart  flutters  and  the  breath  comes  quick, 
And  sighs  through  parted  lips  are  eloquent. 
Such  the  absorbing  sympathy  that  binds 
The  mother  to  her  infant :  such  the  chain 
Electric  that  suffices  without  speech 
To  wrap  in  purity  two  loving  hearts  : 
Such  the  attuning  concord  that  awakes 
The  unison  of  friendship  :  and  gives  life 
To  the  deep  Charities,  reciprocal, 
That  link  Beneficence  to  Poverty. 

Yet  gleams  of  glory,  tremulously  bright, 
And  intermitting,  as  the  midnight  dawn 
Of  boreal  Aurora,  oft  descend 
On  the  authentic  Church  ;  then  most,  what  time 
The  congregated  peeple  meet  beneath 
The  vault  of  some  Cathedral  sanctuary, 
Kneeling  along  the  venerable  choir, 
Or  round  the  glowing  alter  bowed  :  the  flood 
Of  rainbow  lights  from  the  eastern  window  bathing 
The  roofs  and  chequered  pavement.     Eminent 
Upon  the  highest  altar  step  stands  forth 
The  mitred  Minister  of  God ;  around, 
In  order  due,  the  consecrated  Priests ; 
Below,  with  bended  knees  and  upraised  brow, 
The  contrite  people  gather  :  a  low  voice 
Intones  with  awe  the  comfortable  words  ; 
While  Angels  scatter  blessings  ;  and  men's  lips 
Chaunt  the  Cherubic  anthem.     Hark  !  the  peal 
Of  the  voluminous  organ  through  the  aisles 
Grows  like  a  swelling  tide  :  the  air  around, 
Suffused  with  melody,  perfumed  with  prayer, 
An  acceptable  incense,  floats  to  heaven  ! 


Sacred  Poems.  101; 

Here  rest  my  Song  !     The  wearied  wings  of  thought 
Droop — the  voice  falters ;  and  my  eyes  grow  dim. 
Yet  would  I  raise,  once  more,  a  prayer  for  those, 
Beloved,  who  still  dwell  round  me,  or  have  gone 
Before  ;  and  for  my  own  weak  nature. 

Bend 

Thine  ear,  O  Christ  !  Lord,  open  Thou  our  lips  ! 
That  worthily  our  mouth  may  speak  Thy  praise. 
O  Lamb  of  God  !     Thou  who  dost  take  away 
The  sins  of  the  whole  world,  grant  us  Thy  peace  ! 
Hear  us,  O  Christ  !  have  mercy  on  us,  Lord  ! 
Teach  us  to  turn  from  the  vain  gauds  of  life  ; 
Contemn  the  world,  and  all  at  this  side  heaven  ! 
Set  our  affections  upon  things  above  : 
For  where  our  treasure  is,  will  be  our  hearts  : 
So  shall  we  sin  no  more ;  so  gain,  for  ever, 
The  vision  of  Thy  Glory  ;  best  of  joys  ! 
Fruition  of  our  God  !     This — This,  is  Life  ! 


"  Lord  !  Let  Thy  servant  now  depart  in  peace, 
According  to  Thy  blessed  word  :  for  now 
Upon  mine  eyes  hath  Thy  salvation  dawned, 
Which  Thou  before  all  people  hast  prepared  ; 
To  be  a  guiding  light  unto  the  Gentiles— 
The  glory  of  Thy  People,  Israel  !" 
"  And  now  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
Be  glory  everlastingly  ;  as  ever 
Hath  been,  is  now,  and  through  all  time  shall  be  !" 
Amen ! 

Sir  Aubrey  f>c  Vtr'e*  Bprt. 


IO2  Sacred  Poems. 


Cfce  pursuit  of  HJeltgtous 


XLIV. 

dtp)  EN  walk  astray  in  ignorance  ;  or  grow 

***£'     Corrupt  through  some  false  principle,  imbibed 

From  evil  teachers,  or  unsteady  thought. 

So,  when  temptation  comes,  they  fall  away  ; 

Their  feet  not  standing  on  the  Rock  eterne  ; 

That  fundamental  truth,  whereon  is  built 

Religion  :  frail  in  the  uninstructed  heart. 

And  such  men  oft  seem  pious,  for  a  time  ; 
Nay,  are  so  :  some,  cold-hearted  Disputants, 
Who  bind  the  word  in  textual  fetters  down, 
Freezing  the  vital  waters  ;  some  who  quench 
The  Spirit,  and  with  Sadducean  nerve 
Cling  to  the  letter  ;  Visionaries  some, 
Like  the  old  Essenian,  or,  in  later  days, 
The  hundred-handed  Giant  of  Dissent. 

In  time  of  trial  put  no  trust  in  these. 
The  mysteries  divine  of  Love  and  Goodness 
Are  dim  to  Reason's  microscopic  eye  ; 
God's  wisdom  measureless  by  Sophist  rules. 

Must  then  all  die  through  ignorance  ?     Alas  ! 
We  know  not  :  but,  as  knowledge  leads  to  Faith, 
And  Faith  is  safety,  shall  we  not  kneel  and  learn  ? 
lieur'  holy  lessons  from  the  Father-Saints  ; 
Submit,  our  thoughts  to  heavenly  influences  ; 
And  hola  Religion,  virginally  pure 
As  Mary's  bosom  'neath  the  Saviour's  cheek  ? 

Sir  Aubrey  De   Vcre,  Bart. 


Sacred  Poems.  103 

atiam  refuses  tfre  Presents  of  tfre 
OEtril  iRace,* 

XLV. 

/fltNTHRONED,  and  mantled  in  a  snow-white  robe, 

^^  Man's  sire  I  saw,  the  Lord  of  all  the  globe ; 

High-priest  of  all  the  Church,  and  Prophet  sure 

Of  Him,  whose  promised  kingdom  shall  endure 

Until  the  last  of  Adam's  race  is  dead. 

Nor  crown  nor  mitre  rested  on  his  head  : 

Yet  kings  with  awe  had  viewed  him  !     Deep  and  slow 

His  speech  ;  the  words  I  knew  not,  nor  could  know ; 

But  wept  to  hear,  amid  their  golden  sound, 

A  melancholy  echo  from  the  ground. 

Ages  were  flown  since  Adam's  lifted  hand 

Had  plucked,  insurgent  'gainst  Divine  command, 

That  fruit,  a  sacrament  of  death,  which  gave 

Perpetual  life  a  forfeit  to  the  grave  : 

Yet  still  those  orbs,  their  Maker  once  that  saw, 

Governed  the  nations  of  the  world  with  awe. 

Mournful  they  looked,  as  though  their  sorrowing  weight 

Reposed  for  aye  on  Eden's  closing  gate ; 

Mournful,  yet  lustrous  still  those  lordly  eyes, 

First  mortal  mirror  of  the  earth  and  skies ; 

And  still  with  piercing  insight  filled,  as  when 

God's  new-made  creatures  passed  beneath  their  ken, 

While  he  decreed,  in  his  celestial  speech, 

Prophetic  names,  symbolical,  for  each. 

All  round,  checkering  the  steep  with  giant  shade, 

His  mild  and  venerable  race  were  laid, 

For  dance  and  song  no  wreaths  as  yet  had  won  : 

Many  their  strong  eyes  bent  upon  the  sun ; 


*  The  arts  and  sciences  were  invented  by  the  descendants  of  Cain, 
who  were  the  first  to  build  cities,  wage  wars,  and  substitute  complicated 
systems  of  society  for  the  Patriarchal. 


IO4  Sacred  Poems. 

Some  on  a  sleeping  infant's  smiling  face, 
Wherein  both  Love  and  Faith  were  strong  to  trace 
The  destined  patriarch  of  a  future  race  ! 

Then  through  the  silent  circle,  winged  with  joy, 

A  radiant  herald  moved,  a  shepherd  boy. 

Wondering  he  stepped ; — ere  long,  like  one  afraid, 

A  tribute  at  those  feet  monarchal  laid, 

A  Lyre,  gem-dowered  from  many  a  vanished  isle. 

Thereon  the  Father  gazed  without  a  smile  : 

But  some  fair  children  with  the  bright  toy  played ; 

While  sound  so  rapturous  thrilled  the  echoing  glade, 

That  Seers,  cave-hid,  looked  up  with  livelier  cheer, 

And  the  first  childless  mother  wiped  away  a  tear  ! 

And  next  there  came,  as  one  who  comes  from  far, 

A  branded  warrior,  gloomy  from  the  war. 

Dark  was  his  face,  yet  bright ;  and  stern  as  though 

It  bent  o'er  that  of  an  expiring  foe, 

Retorting  still,  with  sympathetic  glare, 

The  imprecating  anguish  imaged  there  ! 

A  tribute,  too,  that  warrior  brought — a  shield 

Graven  with  emblems  of  a  death-strewn  field, 

And  placed  it  at  the  patriarch's  feet,  and  spoke  : 

"  Certain  oppressors  reared  an  impious  yoke, 

"  And  passed  beneath  it  brethren  of  their  race, 

"  Therefore  we  rose,  and  hewed  them  from  their  place." 

All  pale  the  Patriarch  sat — long  time  his  eye 

Fixed  on  the  deepening  crimson  of  the  sky, 

Where  sanguine  clouds  contended  with  the  dun ; 

Then  turned,  and  whispered  in  the  ear  of  one, 

Who,  on  his  death-bed,  whispered  to  his  son — 

That  Man  beheld  the  deluge  ! 

*  Aubrey  De  Vere. 


Sacred  Poems.  105 


XLVI. 

marvels  of  the  seas  and  earth, 
Their  works  and  ways,  are  little  worth 
Compared  with  Man  their  lord  : 
He  masters  Nature  through  her  laws  ; 
And  therefore  not  without  a  cause 
Is  he  by  all  adored. 

Lord  of  the  mighty  eye  and  ear, 
Each  centering  an  immortal  sphere 

Of  empire  and  command  : 
Lord  of  the  heavenly  breast  and  brow, 
The  step  that  makes  all  creatures  bow, 

And  the  earth-subduing  hand. 

And  yet  not  loftier  soars  the  state 
Of  Man  o'er  shapes  inanimate, 

In  majesty  confest, 

Than  among  men,  that  man,  by  Faith 
Assured  in  life,  confirmed  in  death, 

Uptowers  above  the  rest  ! 

For  God  is  with  him  ;  and  the  end 
Of  all  things,  downward  as  they  tend, 

Toward  their  term  and  close, 
A  sov'reign  throne  for  him  prepares  ; 
And  makes  of  vanquished  pains  and  cares 

A  couch  for  his  repose  ! 

While  kingdoms  lapse,  and  all  things  range, 
He  rules  a  world  exempt  from  change  ; 

He  sees  as  Spirits  see  ; 
And  garners  ever  more  and  more, 
While  years  roll  by,  an  ampler  store 

Of  glorious  liberty  — 


io6  Sacred  Poems. 

Yea,  ten  times  glorious  when  at  last 
His  spirit,  all  her  trials  past, 

Stands  up,  prepared  to  die ; 
And,  fanning  wide  her  swan-like  plumes, 
A  glory  flings  across  the  glooms 

Through  which  her  course  mnst  lie. 

*  Aubrey  De  Vere. 


iSocturn 


XLVII. 

f|7)OW  God  suspends  its  shadowy  pall 
Jl*   Above  the  world,  yet  still 
A  steely  lustre  plays  o'er  all, 
With  evanescent  thrill. 


Softly,  with  favouring  footstep,  press, 
Amor^g  those  yielding  bowers  ; 

Over  the  cold  dews  colourless, 
Damp  leaves  and  folded  flowers. 

Sleep,  little  birds,  in  bush  and  brake  ! 

'Tis  surely  ours  to  raise 
Glad  hymns,  ere  humbler  choirs  awake 

Their  anthem  in  God's  praise. 

The  impatient  zeal  of  patient  love 
Hath  forced  us  from  our  bed  ; 

But  doubly  blest  repose  will  prove 
After  our  service  said  ! 


How  dim,  how  still  this  slumbering  wood  ! 

And  O  !  how  sweetly  rise 
From  clouded  boughs,  and  herbs  bedewed, 

Their  odours  to  the  skies  ! 


Sacred  Poems.  107 

Sweet  as  that  mood  of  mystery, 

When  thoughts  that  hide  their  hues 

Reveal  their  presence  only  by 
The  sweetness  they  diffuse. 

But  hark !  o'er  all  the  mountain  verge, 

The  night-wind  sweeps  along  ; 
O  haste,  and  tune  irs  echoing  surge 

To  a  prelusive  song  ; 

A  song  of  thanks  and  laud  to  Him 

Who  makes  our  labour  cease  : 
Who  feeds  with  love  the  midnight  dim — 

And  hearts  devout  with  peace. 

*  Aubrey  De  Vert. 


O0qite  duo  Domini? 


XLVIII. 

OW  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 

A  swathe  of  darkness  folds  Thy  face, 
O  Christ !     In  clouds  I  faintly  trace 
The  wreath  of  thorns  about  Thy  brow, 
The  holes  that  pierce  Thy  feet ;  and  now 
The  blinding  shadows  darker  grow. 
How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 
Take  from  mine  eyes  these  mists  away. 
Though  earth  be  ringed  with  sapphire  day, 
These  eyes  behold  the  twilight  grey ; 
Though  men  grow  rich  and  strong  in  faith, 
This  heart  is  in  the  hand  of  death. 


io8  Sacred  Poems. 

I  cannot  see  Thee,  cannot  feel 
That  thou  art  near  me,  as  I  kneel 
On  rocks  and  briars  barbed  with  pain, 
And  clasp  my  hands  in  vain,  in  vain. 
O  Son  of  God,  appear  to  me, 
As  in  the  storm  of  Galilee 
Thou  earnest  walking  on  the  sea  ! 
All  things  are  possible  with  Thee. 


How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 

Hast  Thou  no  answer  for  the  prayer 

Of  faithless  anguish  and  despair  ? 

Hast  Thou  no  pity  for  the  cry 

Of  hopeless  woe,  the  streaming  eye, 

The  tortur'd  spirit's  agony  ? 

Were  there  but  hope,  this  would  not  be. 

I  cry  because  these  lips  will  moan 

Though  the  flames  parch  them  .  .  .  woe  is  me, 

Who  cry  my  cry  unheard,  alone  ! 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 

They  said,  "  He  standeth  at  the  door, 

Bidding  thee  open,"  and  afar, 

(As  the  low  murmur  of  a  shore 

Chafed  by  dark  seas)  afar,  afar, 

Methought  I  heard  Thy  voice,  my  soul 

Panted  with  joy  !  the  sounds  of  dole 

Died  from  my  lips ;  in  blissful  fear 

I  flung  the  lattice  back  .  .  .  my  brow 

Is  beaten  by  the  wind,  but  Thou — 

Thine  eyes  of  pity  are  not  near ; 

The  land  is  dark  and  cold,  and  drear  \ 

I  look  in  vain.     Thou  art  not  here. 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 


O  deadly  clench  of  chill  despair  ! 
Hope  without  hope  !     Unprayerful  prayer  ! 
Untroubled  trouble  !     Careless  care  1 
Can  this  frail  bark  such  burthen  bear  ? 


Sacred  Poems.  109 

As  the  dear  notes  of  some  sweet  air 
By  lips  long  silent  warbled  o'er, 
Come  back  to  stir  the  heart  once  more, 
And,  even  while  grasped,  are  hushed  away ; 
So  on  this  darkened  soul  of  mine 
The  splendours  of  Thy  Godhead  shine 
One  little  moment,  and  mine  eyes 
Behold  through  tears  Thy  sacrifice, 
Thy  passion  and  Thine  agony  .  .  . 
The  mists  of  sin  creep  stealthily  : 
Cold  wings  of  darkness  shadow  me  ; 
The  golden  light  is  blurred  away  ? 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 
For  sinners  didst  thou  die  ?     Behold 
A  chief  of  sinners  !     Stiff  and  cold 
My  dead  heart  lies  within  my  breast ; 
Nor  ghastly  smile  nor  spectral  jest 
Can  hide  the  plague  that  preys  within. 
I  am  too  foully  grimed  with  sin 
For  Thee  to  cleanse  me.     Ah,  too  well 
I  know  the  gulfs  that  yawn  below, 
The  fires  that  round  the  abysses  glow ; 
Too  well  I  feel  the  burning  stain 
That  eats  away  my  soul  with  pain, 
Pain  without  rest,  unending  pain  ! 
I  once  was  scarlet — what  if  now 
I  blacken  in  these  fires  of  hell? 
A  gloom  of  anger  sweeps  Thy  brow, 

Yet  will  I  cry  and  strive  with  Thee 

Till  I  have  perished  utterly. 

O,  lift  me  up  and  strengthen  me  ! 

I  cannot  hush  these  tortured  lips, 

Though  hope  be  buried  in  eclipse. 

Look  down  on  me  and  pity  me. 

I  ask  not  faith,  but  give,  O  give 

One  ray  of  hope,  that  I  may  live  !  .  .  . 

A  swathe  of  darkness  folds  his  face, 


no  Sacred  Poems. 

And  yet,  methinks,  I  seem  to  trace 
The  wreath  of  thorns  about  His  brow, 
The  holes  that  pierce  His  feet,  and  now 
The  awful  shadows  lighter  grow. 
Not  long,  O  Lord,  not  long  ! 

E.  J.  Armstrong. 


XLIX. 

air  is  chill ;  the  ground  is  frore  ; 
On  the  White  Mountain  breaks  the  day. 
Earth  flashes  like  to  sparkling  ore. 
The  shadows  melt  and  peel  away. 

O  sweet  and  rare  !     How  grand,  how  fair 
The  hills,  the  lakes,  the  vales  below  ! 

And  the  near  peaks,  each  seems  to  wear 
An  auriole  of  roseate  snow. 


And  high  and  low,  the  purple  glow 
On  flakes  of  cloud  and  strips  of  sky — 

Aerial  hues,  that  float  and  flow 
Like  visions  in  a  painter's  eye. 

How  great !     How  vast !  .  .  .  Alas,  how  small ! 

Man's  mighty  ken  is  bounded  here. 
Maker  of  all  things,  lo,  we  fall 

And  clasp  Thy  garment's  skirts  in  fear  ! 

We  can  but  fear  Thee — our  dim  eyes 
See  nothing,  nothing  save  the  hem 

Of  Thy  vast  robe,  whose  lightning  dyes 
Would  blind  us,  could  we  gaze  on  them. 


Sacred  Poems.  1 1 1 

Drop  down  thy  plummet,  Man,  and  sound 
His  depths,  who  framed  thy  mystic  world. 

What  end — what  bottom  hast  thou  found  ? 
Thou  seest  the  waters  faintly  curled ; 

Thou  seest  the  ripple's  eddying  curve — 

A  moment — all  is  smooth  and  still ; 
A  thrill  runs  down  some  secret  nerve ; 

The  cheek  turns  pale  ;  the  heart  grows  chill ; 

The  head  is  bowed  \  a  feeble  cry 

Breaks  from  the  lips,  "  Lord,  what  is  man 

That  Thou  art  mindful  ?     What  am  I, 
Whose  darksome  days  are  scarce  a  span? 

"  Thou  dwellest  veiled  in  awful  light, 
We  know  not  where,  in  boundless  space  ; 

Yet,  in  this  narrow  orb  of  night, 
We  feel  the  splendour  of  Thy  face. 

"  The  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  hold 

The  fulness  of  Thy  mind  divine  ; 
Yet,  on  this  blot  of  crumbling  mould, 

The  glories  of  Thy  footsteps  shine  ! 

"  The  stars  beneath  Thee  dimly  burn ; 

Like  dust  of  gold  the  systems  roll ; 
Yet,  King  of  Kings  !  Thou  wilt  not  spurn 

"The  twilight  of  a  human  soul !" 

E.  J.  Armstrong. 


H2  Sacred  Poems. 


Cfje 


>E  is  not  dead  but  sleepeth— 

Yea,  though  ye  laugh  us  to  scorn, 
As  the  dawn  from  the  darkness  upleapeth, 

As  the  night  dashes  out  into  morn, 
As  the  moon  cleaveth  clouds  in  her  glory, 

As  the  Spring  flameth  forth  into  flower, 
To  His  side  that  your  spear  has  made  gory, 

To  His  arm  ye  despoiled  of  its  power, 
To  the  head  ye  have  wreathed  in  derision, 

The  feet  ye  have  nailed  to  the  tree, 
There  will  come  back  the  beauty  elysian, 

There  will  come  life  and  fervour,  the  free 
Fair  light  to  the  lips,  and  the  splendour 

Of  thought  to  the  brow,  and  the  rose 
To  the  palm-smitten  cheek,  and  the  tender 

Love  smile  to  the  eyes  that  repose ; 
And  as  soft  as  a  sleeper  awaketh 

He  will  wake  from  the  slumber  of  death; 
As  a  sun-lighted  cloud  the  wind  shaketh 

Blowing  clear  into  flame  with  its  breath, 
He  will  shake  out  the  hair  from  its  bindings, 

As  tow  that  is  burning  His  bands 
Break  through,  and  the  swathes  and  the  windings, 

Rend  loose  with  the  might  of  His  hands, 
And,  strong  as  the  sun  in  his  gladness, 

Come  forth  like  a  king  to  his  bride, 
Our  Christ,  whom  ye  mocked  in  your  madness, 

Made  drunk  with  the  wine  of  your  pride. 

There  is  not  a  bone  of  Him  broken; — 

There  is  not  a  deed  of  Him  lost 
To  His  world,  or  a  word  He  hath  spoken, 

But  God  hath  uptaken  and  tost 


Sacred  Poems.  113 

Far  away  among  tribes,  among  nations, 

Like  seeds  whirled  about  in  the  fields 
When  the  hurricanes  leap  from  their  stations, 

And  autumn  its  winnow-fan  wields, 
And  the  year  goeth  forth  like  a  sower 

To  sow  for  the  years  that  will  be — 
Sweet  grass  for  the  scythes  of  the  mower, 

Sweet  herbs  for  the  kine  of  the  lea, 
Nut-kernels  and  pippins  of  apple, 

And  the  corn  shaken  clear  of  its  shells, 
And  flower-seed  to  deck  and  to  dapple 

Spring's  girdle  with  blooms  and  with  bells. 
And  though  winter  drive  wild  from  the  nor'ward, 

And  the  earth  be  entombed  in  the  snow, 
Though  the  clods  be  frost-fettered,  and  forward 

And  backward  the  keen  winds  blow — 
Will  ye  hold  in  the  might  of  the  summer  ? 

Will  ye  rein  the  strong  steeds  of  the  sun  ? — 
Lo  !  back  come  the  song-bird  and  hummer, 

And  the  rillets  are  glad  as  they  run, 
And  the  woods  with  their  old  summer  sighings, 

Sway  green  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn, 
And  the  breezes  with  laughter  and  cryings 

Tread  free  in  the  flowers  of  the  lawn, 
And  the  knolls  are  new-clad,  and  the  mountains 

Arrayed  in  the  garment  God  weaves 
With  the  hues  of  the  bow  of  the  fountains, 

Of  the  sun-widowed  skies  of  fair  eves. 
Will  ye  cause  the  cold  winter  to  linger  ? 

Will  ye  screen  in  the  snows  from  the  heat  ? 
Will  ye  hold  the  mad  months  with  a  finger  ? 

Will  ye  trample  earth  dead  with  your  feet  ? 
Will  ye  blow  back  the  storms  that  are  blowing, 

Or  baffle  the  tides  in  career  ? 
Have  ye  frozen  the  rivers  in  flowing  ? 

Have  ye  vanquished  the  Christ  with  a  spear  ? 
Aha  !  He  is  back  in  despite  of  you  ! 

Lo  ye  the  prints  in  His  palm  ! 
Reach  hither  your  hands  in  the  might  of  you ; 

Feel  ye  His  side  ...  be  ye  calm  .  .  . 


ii4  Sacred  Poems. 

Can  a  man  for  his  pleasuring  smother 
The  stars  or  the  sun  in  eclipse? 

It  is  He,  it  is  Christ,  and  none  other, 
Yea,  Christ  by  the  smile  on  His  lips. 

He  is  out  as  of  old  in  the  city, 

He  is  walking  abroad  in  the  street ; 
He  tendeth  the  poor  in  His  pity, 

The  leper  that  crawls  to  your  feet, 
The  halt,  and  the  maim,  and  the  maddened 

He  feedeth  the  hungry  with  bread ; 
He  cheereth  the  heart  that  is  saddened, 

The  dying,  the  loved  of  the  dead ; 
He  restoreth  the  child  to  its  mother ; 

He  giveth  the  wayfarer  rest — 
It  is  He,  it  is  Christ,  and  none  other, 

Yea,  Christ  by  the  love  in  His  breast. 

He  craveth  for  virtue  and  beauty ; 

He  cleaveth  to  good  from  His  youth ; 
To  witness  of  truth  is  a  duty, 

Yea,  a  triumph  to  die  for  the  truth ; 
He  toileth  from  dawn-time  till  even 

That  light  may  be  given  to  men, 
That  earth  be  uplifted  to  heaven, 

And  sin  driven  down  to  his  den  \ 
He  calleth  the  meanest  His  brother, 

He  draggeth  the  tyrant  in  dole — 
It  is  He,  it  is  Christ,  and  none  other, 

Yea,  Christ  by  the  might  of  His  soul. 

For  holiest  freedom  He  yearneth, 

Made  blest  by  the  law  that  is  good ; 
For  justice,  clear-eyed,  that  discern eth, 

Not  blindfold  in  shedding  of  blood, — 
Firm-handed  to  hold,  and  fair-sighted 

To  watch  as  the  balances  sway ; 
And  for  him  is  the  black  heaven  lighted 

With  streaks  of  perpetual  day ; 


Sacred  Poems.  115 

And  for  Him  is  the  world-life  a  prison, 

By  death  to  be  cloven  apart — 
It  is  He,  it  is  Christ  re-arisen, 

Yea,  Christ  by  the  hope  in  His  heart. 

His  face  to  the  night  He  uplifteth, 

He  searcheth  the  stars  and  the  sun, 
For  the  secrets  they  hold  ;  and  He  sifteth 

The  sands  where  the  gold-rivers  run, — 
The  rivers  of  knowledge,  of  wonder, 

That  roll  to  the  infinite  deeps  ; 
Hid  treasure  He  draweth  from  under 

The  caves  of  the  hill  where  it  sleeps, 
And  the  waifs  of  old  time  that  are  lying 

Where  the  earth  of  dead  centuries  lies — 
It  is  He,  it  is  Christ  the  undying, 

Yea,  Christ  by  the  thirst  in  His  eyes 

He  trampleth  the  seas  in  His  pleasure ; 

He  soweth  the  desert  with  flowers  ; 
He  dareth  to  try  and  to  measure 

His  power  with  invisible  powers ; 
He  burneth  the  idols  with  fire  : 

From  the  courts  of  the  temples  of  God 
He  scourgeth  the  seller  and  buyer, 

He  driveth  them  forth  with  a  rod ; 
And  His  sword  He  hath  sheathed,  in  His  craving 

For  love  in  the  turbulent  lands — 
It  is  He,  it  is  Christ  the  all-saving, 

Yea,  Christ  by  the  strength  of  His  hands, 

From  the  cloud-folded  ultimate  regions, 

East  and  west  over  measureless  seas, 
Come  thronging  the  myriad  legions 

Of  the  good,  of  the  wise,  at  His  knees 
Bowing  down,  and  from  hands  heavy-laden 

For  gifts  pouring  pearl  and  fine  gold  ; 
Yea,  the  youth  high  of  heart,  and  the  maiden 

Pure-eyed,  and  the  rulers  of  old, 
H  2 


n6  Sacred  Poems. 

All  the  just,  and  the  great,  God-appointed, 
Come  thronging  with  reverent  pace — 

It  is  He,  it  is  Christ  the  Anointed, 
Yea,  Christ  by  God's  light  on  His  face. 

Ere  the  world  was  rolled  forth  into  spaces 

Of  light,  into  regions  of  day, 
Ere  the  waters  ran  over  dry  places, 

And  the  grasses  sprang  green  from  the  clay, 
His  rest  was  of  old  with  the  Highest, 

He  abode  with  the  Infinite  King, 
He  was  King  from  the  first,  and  the  nighest 

To  God,  and  we  praise  Him.  and  sing, 
Lifting  hands  to  the  throne  of  His  splendour, 

Sing  aloud  in  our  joy,  *  It  is  Thou, 
It  is  Thou,  O  Christ,  our  defender, 

Our  King  by  the  crowns  on  Thy  brow  !' 

He  made  Thee  a  King  to  reign  over  us, 

God,  who  is  throned  on  high, 
Whose  wings  soft-shadowing  cover  us, 

Curved  wide  as  the  sky ; 
Who  is  crowned  with  the  suns,  O  Supernal ! 

Who  is  girdled  about  with  the  stars  ; 
At  whose  feet  the  strong  oceans  eternal 

Are  crouched  in  their  bars  ; 
Whose  breastplate  is  darkness ;  who  scatters 

The  robes  from  His  shoulder  like  fire  \ 
Who  calleth  from  chaos  and  shatters 

The  worlds  in  His  ire. 

Thou  movest,  a  King  everlasting; 

Thou  abidest  with  man  to  the  end ; 
Thou  art  with  him  to  comfort  him,  casting 

Thine  arms  close  about,  to  befriend 
In  the  moment  supreme  of  his  sorrow 

That  is  blackened  with  Death  for  his  doom  : 
For  Thou  givest  him  hope  of  a  morrow 

Of  rest — we  are  strong  in  the  gloom, 


Sacred  Poems.  117 

And  we  know  that  the  sun  going  seaward 

Will  arise  at  the  morn  from  the  sea, 
As  we  strain  from  the  bow,  looking  leeward, 

While  the  wind  in  our  hair  bloweth  free, 
Looking  forth  at  the  mountain  tops  cleaving 

The  clear  golden  spaces  of  light, 
And  we  spurn  at  the  shores  we  are  leaving, 

And  laugh  as  we  drift  into  night. 

Thou  changest  from  glory  to  glory, 

Thou  growest  for  man  as  he  grows — 
As  peak  after  peak,  high  and  hoary, 

Palm-plumed,  clad  with  vine  and  with  rose, 
As  bay  after  bay  that  with  thunder 

Of  breaker  on  cliff  and  on  sand, 
Running  inward  afar,  rolling  under 

Great  capes  of  a  bountiful  land, 
Bursts  full  on  the  voyager  sailing 

By  coasts  of  a  tropical  clime, 
In  sunlight,  in  moonlight  unveiling, 

Receding,  so  Thou  in  our  time, 
In  the  days  God  hath  made  for  our  moulding 

As  we  fleet  on  our  way,  evermore, 
Enlargest,  upheavest,  unfolding 

Thy  beauty,  Thy  light,  and  Thy  power ; 
And  as  ever  we  speed  to  the  ending, 

As  earth  rolleth  on  to  her  goal, 
Thou  wilt  lend  us  Thy  strength,  ever  blending 

Thy  light  with  the  light  of  the  soul, 
Till  to  nought  hath  our  labour  diminished, 

And  the  deeds  have  been  done  God  hath  willed, 
And  the  work  God  hath  set  man  hath  finished, 

The  purpose  of  ages  fulfilled, 
Till  the  stars  from  their  cycles  are  shaken, 

The  sun  from  his  fervour  hath  waned, 
And  Life  in  our  hands  we  have  taken, 

The  realms  of  our  glory  attained  ! 

*  G.  F.  Armstrong. 


n8  Sacred  Poems. 


of 


LI. 

ffTTJHERE  in  hot  winds  the  heavy  curtain  swung 
*****     Under  a  vast  cathedral-porch,  I  saw 
One  crouched  beneath  a  carven  Christ  that  hung 
Clear  from  the  marble  tympan  ;  mournful  eyes 

He  had,  and  with  low  cries 

He  stretched  his  trembling  hands  in  vain  to  draw 
Pity  and  help  from  priest  and  worshipper 
That  in  and  out  the  portal,  for  long  prayer, 

Went  alway  to  and  fro  : 

'  Oh,  for  His  sake,  who  hangs  above  your  head, 
A  little  water  and  a  little  bread  ! 
Ye  priests  of  Christ,  and  callers  on  His  name, 
Help  me  in  bitter  need,  and  extreme  woe, 

And  miserable  shame.' 
But  the  good  priests  did  spit  upon  his  face, 
And  they  that  went  to  kneel  in  that  high  place 
Shrunk  from  his  rags,  with  crucifix  in  hand, 
And  many  a  lewd  one  gibed  his  lazar  sores  ; 
Till,  last,  some  robed  hierarchs  of  the  land, 
Fierce,  angered,  breaking  from  their  righteous  band, 

Down  drove  him  from  the  doors. 
And  I,  afar  off,  following  bitterly, 

Beheld  him  move  with  bruised  feet,  sad,  slow 
O'er  the  rude  pavements,  on  by  monastery 
And  palace  doors,  by  fanes  of  loveliest  mould, 

Pure  shrines  of  jewelled  gold, 
Still  haunts  of  learned  minds,  rich  stalls  arow, 
Glittering  with  merchandise,  through  noise  and  dust, 
In  glare  of  violent  noon,  a  lone  man  thrust 

This  way  and  that,  and  spurned, 
And  greeted  as  he  went  with  laughters  loud, 
Sneered  at  and  hooted  by  the  hustling  crowd, 
Nigh  trodden  by  proud  horsemen,  or  by  wheel 
Of  gilded  chariot  crushed  ;  till,  last,  he  turned, 

And  out  in  pain  did  reel 


Sacred  Poems.  119 

Between  the  soldiers  at  the  city-wall ; 
And,  issuing  by  the  gates,  I  saw  him  fall 

Down  underneath  the  bastions  with  a  groan ; 
Then,  drawing  near,  with  sickened  heart,  low  bent 

Hard  by,  and  raised  his  shoulder  to  mine  own, 

And  long  time  watched  him,  gazing  there,  alone, 

On  that  strange  face  intent. 
But  while  in  wonder  thus  without  a  word 

I  looked  into  his  eyes,  about  my  heart 
Crept  a  strange  awe,  cold  as  a  piercing  sword, 
Seeing  in  what  vile  sort  so  fair  a  soul 
Had  fallen,  and  what  dole. 

And  suddenly  in  sad  speech  his  lips  did  part  : 
*  Lo,  all  have  bowed  to  devils,  drinking  lies ; 
The  fool  hath  wrought  them  gods,  and  the  vain  wise 

Forgotten  wisdom  true ; 

They  see  not  what  they  worship  in  their  pride ; 
Not  mine  but  theirs  the  purpose  they  deride ; 
When  truth  is  in  their  midst  they  tread  it  low, 

Part  cherishing  dead  lies,  part  lusting  new ; 

They  know  not  as  I  know.' 
And  when  I  turned  in  fear  to  look  again, 
His  palms  were  streaming  blood,  and  crimson  rain 

Ran  from  his  brows  .  .  '  Ah  Lord,  come  nigh  to  me  ! 
'  My  Lord,  I  cried,  and  have  they  wronged  Thee  thus  ? 
So  mocked,  so  clothed  Thee  ?     O,  in  Thine  eyes  I  see 
Wisdom  beyond  all  wisdom,  and  with  Thee 
Abide,  as  Thou  with  us  !' 

*  G.  F.  Armstrong. 


120  Sacred  Poems. 


a  Psalm  of  l£)ope. 


LII. 


mean  they,  standing  aloof,  the  people  who  watch 
us  and  weep, 
Tearing  the  hair  in  sorrow,  and  wailing  and  beating  the 

breast  ? 
Is  it  aught  if  the  stream  roll  wide,  is  it  aught  if  the  waters 

leap, 
Swollen  by  snows,  by  the  storm  lashed  white,  without  pity 

or  rest  ? 
Have  we  not  crossed  many  worse  in  our  march,  O  God,  as 

we  follow 
Leader  or  lord  who  has  led  for  a  time,  and  has  fallen 

asleep, 
Seeking  to  see  Thee  and  feel  Thee  anear,  going  forth  by  the 

hollow 
White  glens  cut  aloft  in  the  hills,  by  the  sands  of  the 

shores  of  the  deep  ? 
Would  they  bid  us  halt  in  our  path  ?  would  they  turn  and 

go  back  in  the  night, 
And  abide  with  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  herd  in  the 

dens  of  the  rocks  ? 
Nay ;  for  our  hearts  are  strong  to  the  end,  and  we  fear  no 

might 

Of  waters,  or  loud  storm  blowing,  or  horror  of  thunder- 
shocks. 
We  will  on  through  the  night  and  the  storm,  we  will  march 

to  the  bountiful  land. 
We  scoff  at  the  lightning's  glare,  we  laugh  at  the  torrent's 

roar, 
As  we  plunge  in  the  hurrying  tide,  and  beat  with  a  buffeting 

hand 
Foam  and  eddying  flood,  and  stem  to  the  further  shore. 


Sacred  Poems.  121 

For,  ever  thou  drawest  us  on  in  the  track  of  invisible  feet, 
Through  the  crisp  white  mountain  snows,   through  the 

pathless  desert  ways, 
By  the  grisly  wastes  of  wood,  by   the  blossomy  gardens 

sweet, 
By  the  dry  sea-wolds  of  sand,  by  the  curves  of  the  tideless 

bays, 

High  over  the  spears  of  crag  a-drip  with  the  sunset's  blood, 
By  the  shores  of  the  desolate  lakes  that  slumber  in  tracts 

of  death, 

Mid  the  flakes  of  splintering  rock  where  the  great  snow- 
cataracts  flood, 
In  the  fume  of  the  watery  flats,  in  the  sulphurous  crater's 

breath. 
Through  sorrowful  spaces  and  sweet  we  march  with  resolute 

heart, 

Nearer  and  nearer  to  Thee,  as  ever  the  years  roll  by ; 
And  more  and  more,  as  we  move  in  the  wandering  paths, 

outstart 
Signs  that  quicken  the  pulse,  that  brighten  the  fainting 

eye  : 
For  lo,  in  the  tremulous  flowers  we  have  found  a  shadow  of 

Thee, 

In  the  purpled  banners  of  day  that  flutter  about  the  west, 
In  the  droves  of  the  flaming  clouds  blown  nor'ward  over  the 

sea, 
In  the  hues  of  shining  plumes,  in  the  gloss  of  the  leopard's 

breast. 
We  have  wrung  from  the  clenched  crags  the  tale  of  Thy 

deeds  of  old, 
We  have  heard  the  hurrying  spheres  in  music  whisper 

praise, 
And  the  leaves  of  Thy  love  have  prattled,  the  birds  of  Thy 

love  have  told, 
And  the  streams  that  flash,  and  the  deer  that  leaps,  and 

the  lamb  that  plays. 
And  we  grow  with  the  vision's  growth,  with  the  dawn  of  Thy 

love  and  power, 

Clearer  of  eye,  and  keener  of  ear,  and  stronger  of  soul, 
And  pain  is  lightlier  borne,  and  light  the  driving  shower 


122  Sacred  Poems. 

As  we  push  through  storm  and  sun,  and  strain  to  the 

utmost  goal. 
And  sometimes,  fair  in  sight,  will  flash  in  a  tide  of  light 

A  symbol  of  peace  to  be,  a  promise  of  power  to  attain ; 
For  sometimes  while  we  pause  on  a  mountain's  lonely  height, 
Out  of  the   stretching   sea,  behold  without   shadow  or 

stain, 
A  thousand  marble  spires,  a  cluster  of  domes  of  gold, 

Will  arise  and  fire  our  blood ;  or,  a  land  of  loveliest  dyes, 
Bowery  plots  and  streams,  and  mountains  fold  on  fold, 
In  the  sheen  of  the  moon  or  sun,  breaks  sudden  under 

the  skies ; 
Or  a  rushing  music  sings  from  far  through  the  waves  and 

trees ; 

Or  odour  of  mystic  boundless  gardens  floats  anear. 
Yea,  we  are  strong  in  trust,  we  are  strong  in  the  faith  that 

sees, 
And  the  love  that  yearns  and  clings,  and  the  hope  that 

conquereth  fear ; 
And  dear,  though  rough,  is  the  march,  and  sweet  is  the 

sound  of  our  feet 

Treading  in  tune  together,  and  gay  are  the  voices  blent, 
As  we  sing  in  the  lonely  ways,  and  a  mirthful  measure  beat, 
Brethren  marching  foot  to  foot,  ever  on  with  the  one 

intent. 
O   'tis  good  to  strive  and  strain,  and  pain  but  turns  to 

mirth, 
And  we  hail  the  worst  with  smiling  lips  as  we  march  along 

to  Thee  ; 

For  doing  the  deeds  of  men  we  taste  of  the  blisses  of  earth, 
We  attain  to  the  ampler  life,  we  grow  as  the  angels  free ; 
And  ever  Thou  drawest  us  on,  and  ever  we  follow  sure, 
And  Thou  waitest  our  coming,  we  know,  afar  in  invisible 

lands, 
In  the  crowd  of  the  spirits  of  light,  in  the  realms  that  ever 

endure, 
To  enrol  us,  born  of  Thee,  at  the  last  in  the  deathless 

bands, 

To  clothe  us  anew  with  strength,  and  the  fervour  that  shall 
not  die, 


Sacred  Poems.  123 

For  the  glorious  deeds  of  gods,  for  the  doing  of  works 

untold, 
So  soon  as  the  years  have  run  their  span,  O  God  Most 

High, 

And  the  season  of  man  is  spent,  and  the  cloud  into 
darkness  rolled. 

*  G.  F.  Armstrong. 


Blea0on  anfl  Ketielation, 

LIII. 

jj\ROUD  Reason,  Science,  now  engross  the  world 

IT    Where  happy  Faith  beheld  her  Lord  so  nigh. 

And  what  the  substitute  for  breathing  Love  ? 

Dead,  icy  science  on  mechanic  laws  ; 

A  world  unsoul'd,  a  dumb  deserted  shrine ; 

A  dreary  chemistry  of  second  causes  ; 

Or,  ending  the  interminable  chain 

As  a  pale  comet  film  that  scarcely  checks 

The  straining  sight,  perchance  a  final  cause 

Faintly  allowed,  a  nebulous  excuse 

For  infidelity,  to  young  beginners 

Made  easy  :  this  the  substitute,  for  this 

They  disallow  the  Word,  whose  name  is  Light, 

And  in  their  smithy  forge  their  own  conceits, 

And  strike  a  galaxy  of  circling  sparks 

That  come  and  go,  wax  brilliant,  and  die  out 

In  turn,  as  more  advance  upon  the  night 

Dazzling  weak  eyes,  soon  from  all  eyes  to  vanish  ; 

Ignitions  of  the  vapours  which  abound 

In  fever  swamps  forsaken  by  the  sun. 

Since  somewhere  we  must  take  our  stand,  I  hold 
By  the  old  Record ;  and  since  He,  the  Maker, 
Deigns  to  inform  me  how  His  work  was  made, 
I  will  not  therefore  hold  it  all  untrue. 


124  Sacred  Poems. 

While  Speculation,  as  he  swerves  along 

With  feeble  superciliousness  of  eye, 

Mistakes  for  knowledge,  Fancy's  zigzag  flights, 

Lead  where  she  pleases — anywhere  but  there 

Where  Faith  has  her  domain.     Deucalion  rather, 

And  Pyrrha's  cast  of  lapidary  men; 

Or  Cadmus'  dragon-teeth,  as  nearer  guess, 

How  such  a  stony-hearted  race  arose 

With  teeth  whose  bite  is  poison.     Let  them  go. 

My  Father  !  as  Thy  children,  seated  round, 

Raise  to  the  light  serene  implicit  brows ; 

Rapt  in  the  past,  we  see  the  day  ere  man 

Could  say,  "Tis  evening  !  when  the  earth  rejoiced 

As  a  young  mother  kissing  her  first-born 

Placed  perfect  in  her  bosom.     While  the  sun, 

Delighted  still  with  new  discoveries 

Of  grace  and  beauty,  coursed  among  the  shades, 

Waved  by  the  playful  branches  on  the  sward. 

Passed  through  the  gate  of  Faith,  we  leave  behind 

The  world  where  Providence  received  in  charge 

The  world  of  miracle ;  when  Eternity 

Gave  in  one  instant  forth  each  pattern  form 

To  the  safe  keeping  of  slow,  cautious  Time ; 

And  not  unwimess'd  ;  for  those  morning  stars 

Who,  shouting,  hailed  the  world's  foundation  laid, 

Dispersed  not  upward,  sure,  while  still  remained 

Yet  moulding  on  the  earth  the  corner-stone, 

The  glory  of  the  temple  :  as  they  pause 

Breathless  in  circling  scintillating  rows 

To  see  that  passive  mould   of  clay,  but  shaped, 

From  the  imperial  feet  to  the  still  hairs 

Awaiting  life,  for  Majesty,  receive 

The  stamp  decisive  of  the  sovereign  image ; 

Fresh  glittering  from  the  mint,  stamped  sharp  and  true. 

Or,  as  an  instrument,  by  nicest  art 

Framed  to  express  all  soft  harmonious  sounds, 

First  by  the  artist's  trial  touch  assayed 

Is  found  responsive,  answering  to  each  call. 

His  eyes  were  opened, ^and  he  knew  his  Lord ; 

His  ears  were  opened,  and  he  owned  His  voice ; 


Sacred  Poems.  125 

The  words  were  understood ;  his  dignity, 
His  charge,  his  privilege,  were  all  received 
As  natural  to  his  maturer  birth 
As  infant  actions  are  to  infancy. 
And  if  by  hands  unskilled  or  passionate 
Some  strings  are  ruptured  or  jar  out  of  tune, 
Blame  not  the  artist,  nor  his  work  defame ; 
Say  not,  Behold,  how  many  efforts  yet 
Ere  this  crude  trial  shall  attain  perfection  ! 
Spoiled  as  it  lies,  enough  survives  to  show 
What  was, — what  still  might  be,  did  not  neglect, 
Misusage,  add  such  wrong  to  what  escaped, 
That  Handel's  self  might  pour  upon  the  chords 
His  soul's  demand,  and  win  no  answer  back, 
Effete  or  all  astray.     And  such  is  man, 
Fallen  from  the  first ;  but  not  to  what  he  falls  ; 
As  the  grand  eagle,  from  his  vantage  springing, 
Pierced,  fluttering,  tumbles,  limping  on  the  clay. 

The  lowliest  peasant's  babe  is  nobly  born  ; 
Smiles  like  a  princess ;  waves  its  tiny  arms 
With  sparkling  flexure  Art  can  but  admire, 
Exulting  mother-ward.     As  years  unfold, 
Have  you  not  seen  beneath  the  ragged  thorn, 
That  with  scant  shadow  cools  the  wayside  bank, 
The  picture  of  a  child  ?     Its  pretty  limbs 
Ennobling  Poverty,  as  day's  fresh  spring 
Glints  on  a  russet  heath  ;  its  full,  clear  brow, 
That  breaks  a  tumbling  sea  of  golden  curls, 
Bowed  o'er  its  plans  of  shells  or  pottery, 
With  such  a  fixture  of  the  studious  eye, 
And  such  a  pause  of  motion,  as  reveals 
A  mind  conceiving,  or  a  spirit  stirred 
With  self-discovery, — as  an  infant  first 
Stares  at  its  fingers,  wondering  what  they  be. 

And  is  that  fairy  vision,  which  reveals 
In  every  gesture,  attitude,  the  light 
That  glows  as  in  some  lantern's  pictur'd  glass 


126  Sacred  Poems. 

Within  the  frame  it  quickens,  but  a  lump 
Of  puddled  clay  that  waits  the  graver's  tool  ? 
Or  a  true  fragment  of  the  broken  crown 
Ere  trodden  under  foot  of  man — of  swine  ? 
What  is  the  diamond  coated  o'er  with  clay 
But  common  soil  ?    The  sun  may  shine  upon  it, 
But  it  cannot  shine  back  upon  the  sun ; 
But  cleanse  it— give  the  setter's  patient  skill 
To  face  and  educate  its  sparkling  gifts, — 
And,  lo  !  'tis  fitted  to  converse  with  Heaven, 
All  tremulous  in  ecstasy  of  light. 


Thus  life  is  given ;  'tis  ours  to  give  it  food, 
And  carry  on  what  germinates  so  fair, 
Placed  in  our  hand.     If  we  neglect  the  trust, 
Whom  shall  we  blame  ?  if  many  a  dawn  as  bright 
So  quickly  changes  to  a  leaden  gloom ; 
Not  storm,  nor  rain  \  but  gilding  never  more 
The  landscape  with  one  burst  of  the  old  joy, 
Whence  spread  those  vapours  ?  earth  has  stifled 
Heaven. 

*  H.  G.Stokes. 


SDream* 


LIV. 

AS  the  peace  of  God  relieved  you 

From  the  sinner's  guilty  pain  ? 
Has  the  world  so  oft  deceived  you, 

And  will  you  trust  her  wiles  again  ? 
Do  you  sigh  to  taste  her  pleasures  ? 

Pants  your  heart  to  hear  her  strain  ? 
'Tis  too  late  to  count  your  treasures, 

When  regrets  alone  remain, 


Sacred  Poems.  127 

Once,  as  summer  evening,  closing, 

Drew  her  shadows  round  my  bed, 
Wearied,  lone,  but  not  reposing, 

Thoughts  like  yours  their  poison  shed. 
Life  seemed  all  bewitching  gladness, 

Faith  a  cold  unreal  shade ; 
Then  I  prayed — in  vain — the  madness 

Would  not,  e'en  in  sleep,  be  staid. 


In  my  dreams,  a  scene,  displaying 

More  than  waking  charms,  I  saw ; 
Happy  creatures  there  were  straying, 

Youth  and  joy  their  gentle  law. 
Banquets  here,  with  songs  and  smiling, 

These  apart,  as  each  inclin'd, 
Till  a  sweetness  stole,  beguiling, 

As  I  gazed,  that  filled  my  mind. 


Harmless  pleasures,  so  endearing, 

Could  it  be  a  sin  to  prove  ? 
"  Yes,"  said  Conscience,  interfering, 

"  You  yearn  to  give  them  all  your  love." 
But  I  ventured,  trembled,  tasted, 

Oh,  how  sweet  the  new-found  joy! 
Earnest,  rapt,  what  others  wasted 

Was  to  me  life's  fond  employ. 


When — with  deepening  awe  beholding — 

Clouds  on  rolling  clouds  around, 
Open'd — oh,  such  scenes  disclosing  ! 

In  such  light — 'twas  holy  ground. 
Abraham  there  I  saw  in  glory, 

With  him  who  in  his  bosom  lay, 
And  all  the  saints  of  sacred  story, 

But  how  changed  from  sinful  clay  ! 


128  Sacred  Poems. 

And  there,  with  awful  love  elated, 

My  Pastor  stood,  entranced  in  prayer, 
And  hand  in  hand  in  stillness  waited, 

My  parents,  with  their  children  there. 
One  was  not — my  bosom  trembled — 

Knowing  who  that  one  must  be ; 
For,  oh !  it  could  not  be  dissembled, 

I  felt  their  place  was  not  for  me. 


How  I  strove  to  catch  their  greeting, 

Strove  to  show  my  struggling  thought ! 
But  their  glances,  mildly  meeting, 

Passed  as  though  they  knew  me  not. 
Vainly  now  my  soul  may  languish, 

Not  for  me  those  scenes  divine  ; 
But  my  sorrows  burst  in  anguish, 

When  I  thought,  They  once  were  mine. 


Mine  in  calm  and  quiet  feeling, 

Mine  along  life's  common  walk, 
Mine  in  deep  and  rich  revealing, 

When  with  God  I  seemed  to  talk. 
Ev'n  those  moments,  then  distressing, 

With  the  "wedding  garment"  stained. 
Now  had  been  a  heaven  of  blessing, 

For,  then,  my  heart  with  God  remained. 


Thus  I  woke  ; — my  heart  was  breaking — 

My  cheek,  my  pillow  wet  with  tears, 
And  'twas  long  ere  reason,  waking, 

Could  dispel  my  guilty  fears. 
Had  I  even  in  sleep  forsaken 

Him  to  whom  all  hearts  lie  bare  ? 
Then  I  thought,  though  tempted,  shaken, 

I  had  closed  mine  eyes  in  prayer. 


Sacred  Poems.  129 

Oh,  the  rapture  that  returning 

Told  my  name  was  yet  above  ! 
Christ  was  mine  ; — adoring,  burning, 

All  my  soul  dissolved  in  love. 
And  I  knelt — in  countless  number, 

Eyes  of  Heaven  alone  might  see — 
"  Never  may  I  know  the  slumber 

Would  beguile  me,  Lord,  from  Thee  ! " 

*  H.  G.  Stokes. 


's  Cfjree 

LV. 


QjSRAEL  on  Moreh's  steep 

-3J  Waked  up  at  dawn's  first  peep, 

Waked  up  and  wondered  : 
Midian  in  myriads  round 
Lay  on  the  dewy  ground 
By  the  vale  sundered. 

Israel's  ten  thousands  press 
On  in  their  mightiness  ; 

Loud  the  vale  thundered  : 
God's  awful  Voice  they  hear  — 
"  Back  those  who  faint  or  fear, 
Back,  trembling  sword  or  spear, 
Faint-hearted  !  draw  not  near." 
He,  who  can  save  by  few, 
Faithful  to  Him,  and  true, 
His  own  great  work  can  do, 

Do  with  Three  Hundred  ! 

Far  down  in  Moreh's  glen 
Myriads  of  sleeping  men, 
Never  to  wake  again, 

Carelessly  slumbered  ; 


130  Sacred  Poems. 

Dreams,  through  their  broken  sleep, 
Watch  for  God's  people  keep, 
Waking  them  up  to  weep 

As  if  out-numbered  ; 
Then  back  to  dream-land  creep 

Souls  care-encumber'd. 


Sudden  wild  gleams  of  light 
Flash  on  their  startled  sight, 
Pitchers,  at  dead  of  night, 

Shattered  and  sundered ; 
Wake  up  those  wilder'd  men, 
God  rights  for  Israel  then, 

Trumpets  loud  thundered  : 


Out  springs  each  heathen-sword 
Out — for  the  mighty  Lord 
Doing  His  will  and  word, 

His  standard  raising ; 
Each  on  his  fellow  fell, 
Doing  dark  deeds  of  Hell, 

Man's  wrath  God-praising. 

Israel  at  break  of  day 

Looked  out  and  wondered ; 
There  in  the  valley  lay, 
Melting  like  dew  away, 
Myriads  of  yesterday, 

Crushed  by  Three  Hundred  ! 

Now  when  the  tale  is  told 
Of  those  so  true  and  bold, 
God's  valiant  saints  of  old, 

His  own  anointed  ! 
Good  Christian  men  take  heart, 
Rise  up,  and  do  the  part 

By  Him  appointed. 


Sacred  Poems.  131 


Myriads  of  Heathen  lie 
In  darkness  doomed  to  die, 

From  mercy  parted ; 
Thousands — themselves  to  please — 
Live  here  at  home  at  ease, 
Lift  not  hands,  bend  not  knees, 
To  bring  God's  light  to  these  ' 

Poor  broken-hearted. 


Yet,  to  His  promise  true, 
He  His  own  work  can  do, 
By  His  own  faithful  few, 

Earth's  pitchers  broken  : 
Darkness  in  ruin  crashed, 
Light  on  the  sleepers  flashed, 

By  the  Word  spoken  : 
Truth, — through  the  conntless  host, 
By  sin  depraved  and  lost, 

And  from  God  sundered — 
Told  out — the  dead  to  wake, 
Heaven  to  rejoice — and  make 
Hell's  deep  foundations  shake, 

Told — trumpet-thundered  : 
Till  the  world  saved  shall  be 
From  dire  extremity, 
By  the  fidelity 

Of  God's  Three  Hundred. 


/.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


I  2 


132  Sacred  Poems. 


greeting  tfte 

LVI. 


thou  dost  meet  the  dead, 
Pass  with  uncover'd  head, 
The  Conqueror  of  Kings  is  on  the  road; 
And  one  day  we  all  must 
Bow  down  into  the  dust 
Before  this  mighty  Messenger  of  God. 

He  is  no  enemy 

To  injure  thine  or  thee, 
But  a  Good  Friend,  in  God's  great  mercy  sent 

To  open  the  last  door 

That  doth  to  Life  restore, 
The  Pardon'd  to  take  back  from  banishment. 

Had  we  still  kept  the  road 

We  walked  on  once  with  God, 
Death  had  no  call  to  come  amongst  us  here  ; 

Life  then  had  ever  been 

One  long  unfolding  scene 
Of  joy — without  a  trouble  or  a  tear. 

But  when  the  fatal  Fall 

Had  so  defaced  us  all, 
That  God's  fair  image  passed  away  from  men ; 

Then  come  to  us  Death  must, 

To  crush  us  back  to  dust. 
That  God  might  make  us  like  Himself  again. 

He  knows  how  weary  we 
Of  ruin'd  life  would  be  ; 
The  wild  heart  beating  at  its  prison  bars, 


Sacred  Poems.  133 

Even,  in  their  decay, 
Still  strong  enough  to  stay 
Its  upward  flight  to  worlds  beyond  the  stars  : 

Therefore  He  did  us  send 

Death  as  a  kindly  friend, 
The  cage  to  open,  let  the  bird  go  free ; 

Outside  of  the  Pearl-gate 

In  Paradise  to  wait, 
Until  its  body  shall  repaired  be. 

And  that,  in  its  repair, 

It  perfectly  might  wear 
The  fashion  in  which  first  it  had  been  made, 

The  Maker,  to  re-make, 

Upon  Himself  did  take 
His  once  fair  image,  now  so  sin-decay'd  : 

Then  unto  Death  His  brow 

The  Lord  of  Life  did  bow, 
That  He  might  take  from  Death  its  sting  away; 

And  from  the  Grave  that  He 

Might  take  its  victory, 
Bruised  head  and  broken  heart  did  in  it  lay. 

That,  what  the  First  Man  spoil'd, 

The  Second  might,  unsoil'd 
And  pure  and  perfect,  from  the  dust  revive  ; 

That,  as  in  Adam  all 

Died  through  the  fatal  Fall, 
So  in  the  Christ  might  all  be  made  alive. 

Then,  when  thou  meet'st  the  dead, 

Pass  with  uncover'd  head, 
And  breathe  a  prayer,  that  the  dear  soul  at  rest 

May,  in  the  holy  place, 

Grow  on  in  every  grace 
Here  left  imperfect,  even  in  the  best. 


134  Sacred  Poems. 

And  that — not  Death — but  Sleep, 
Death's  Christian  name,  may  keep 

That  worn-out  body  safe  in  sacred  ground 
Until  the  morning  when 
Jesus  shall  come  again, 

And  all  His  jewels  shall  by  Him  be  found 


Until  that  morning  break, 

Until  the  sleepers  wake, 
And  rise  to  meet  their  Saviour  in  the  air ; 

Until  His  sacred  trust 

Death  render  from  the  dust 
To  Christ,  in  Christ  re-fashion'd  fresh  and  fair. 


Then  will  Death  wearied  lie 

Down  at  Christ's  feet  and  die, 
That  Life  alone  infinity  may  fill ; 

The  very  life  of  Death 

On  to  its  parting  breath 
Only  to  know,  and  do  the  Father's  will. 

/.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


Silent  leaf  of  autumn, 

LVII. 

AGILENT  Leaf  of  Autumn  ! 
^^     Dropping  from  the  bough, 
What  a  tender  teacher 
Of  the  Truth  art  thou  ! 


Upon  thee  is  written 
Wisdom  deep  and  true, 

More  than  many  sages 
Ever  taught  or  knew. 


Sacred  Poems.  135 

Under  thee  are  hidden 

Mysteries  Divine, 
All  thy  life — a  lesson, 

And  thy  death — a  sign. 


Thou  hast  done  thy  duty 
Where  thy  lot  was  laid, 

Deck'd  thy  tree  with  beauty, 
Comforted  with  shade. 


Over  life's  first  breathings 
In  each  tender  shoot, 

Over  bud  and  blossom, 
Over  swelling  fruit ; — 


Warding  off  the  tempest 
That  against  them  beat, 

Softening  the  sunshine's 
Too  excessive  heat  ;— 


Outer  air  inspiring, 
Light  and  gentle  dew 

Drinking  in,  life's  being 
Daily  to  renew ; — 


Breathing  back  its  perfume 
From  the  secret  cells, 

Where  thy  hidden  gladness 
Delicately  dwells. 


Underneath  thy  shelter 
Lay  the  downy  nest, 

Beasts  in  Summer  noon-tide 
Came  to  thee  for  rest, 


136  Sacred  Poems. 

Happy  hearts  and  voices 
Rang  in  youthful  glee, 

Dancing  'neath  the  shadow 
Of  thy  stately  tree  : 


While  the  old  and  weary 

Rested  in  the  shade 
Which  the  whisp'ring  thousands 

Of  thy  kindred  made. 


One  amid  those  thousand 
Thousands  of  thy  kind  ! 

Underneath  thee  only 
None  could  shelter  find 


But  Love's  sweet  Communion 
Made  the  perfect  bough, 

And  a  part  essential 

Of  its  wealth  wast  thou  ! 


Now,  thy  spring-tide  over, 
Now,  thy  summer  fled, 

Thou  art  gently  gather'd 
Down  amid  the  dead  : 


Falling  with  soft  rustle 
On  thy  mother's  breast, 

Very  little  bustle 
Layeth  thee  to  rest. 


Sad  autumnal  sighings 

Low  for  burial  lay 
Thee,  with  the  companions 

Of  the  summer  day. 


Sacred  Poems.  137 

And  the  feet  of  heedless 

Daily  passers-by 
In  thy  grave  compose  thee 

All  unconsciously. 


Yet  thy  death  is  thoughtful ; 

Life  that  never  dies 
Hath  its  claim  upon  thee, 

And  thou  shalt  arise  ! 


Wrapt  around  the  fibres 
Of  that  stately  tree, 

Once  more  with  its  being 
Mingled  thou  shalt  be  ! 


Till  the  time  appointed 
Waiting  in  the  dust, 

Waiting  in  the  quiet 
Confidence  of  trust, 


For  the  angel-trumpet 
Of  God's  Spring  to  call, 

Of  thy  resurection 
Sure  as  of  thy  fall ! 


Silent  Leaf  of  Autumn  ! 

Dropping  from  the  bough, 
What  a  touching  teacher 

Of  God's  Truth  art  thou  ! 


Though  to  human  senses 
Passionless  and  dumb, 

How  the  life  that  now  is 
Talks  of  that  to  come  : 


138  Sacred  Poems. 

Teaching  truths  mysterious 
Through  what  round  us  lies, 

And  through  earthly  shadows 
Heaven's  realities  : 


Preaching  better  sermons, 
To  the  point  more  near, 

Than  it  is  one's  fortune 
Oft  from  men  to  hear  : — 


Home  to  the  affections 
Striking  straight  and  true, 

Until  souls  believe  them 
And,  believing,  do. 


Life,  with  its  first  breathings, 
Waking  out  of  death, 

At  the  gentle  stirrings 
Of  the  spirit's  breath  : 


Life,  with  its  renewals 
Daily  fresh  and  free, 

Fed  by  its  communion 
With  the  Living  Tree  : 


Life,  with  all  the  duties 
Of  Life's  mystic  plan, 

Giving  and  receiving 
Gifts  for  God  and  man 


Life,  with  the  resigning 
Of  its  sacred  trust, 

Laying  down  its  body 
Hopeful  in  the  dust : 


Sacred  Poems.  139 

Certain  of  the  morning 

When  it  shall  awake  : 
And  a  glorious  body 

Like  its  Saviour's  take  : 


Certain  of  the  Spring-tide 
When  it  shall  arise, 

And  in  better  beauty 
Blossom  for  the  skies. 


Silent  Leaf  of  Autumn 
Dropping  from  the  tree, 

These  the  sacred  lessons 
That  I  learn  of  thee. 


Train  me,  O  my  Father  ! 

In  their  heavenly  lore, 
On  unto  perfection 

Lead  me  evermore. 

/.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


lotie  auafcetf)  jFair. 


LVIII. 


"  Foedam  amavit,  ut  pulchram  faceret."  —  S.  Augustine. 


was  the  fairest  of  all  things  on  earth 
When  first  she  came  from  her  Creator's  hand, 
But  lost  the  beauty  of  her  primal  birth 

And  could  no  longer  in  His  presence  stand  ; 
Yet  He,  Who  loveth,  said  He  would  repair 
Her  beauty,  and,  by  loving,  make  her  fair. 


140  Sacred  Poems. 

He  left  the  glory  of  His  Father's  home, 

And  sought  her  in  her  sinfulness  and  shame, 

Into  His  heart  of  hearts  He  bid  her  come, 

And  clothed  her  with  the  honour  of  His  Name 

Contented  all  her  sufferings  to  share, 

And  love  her  foul,  that  He  might  make  her  fair. 


But  lest  the  splendour  of  His  high  degree 

Should  startle  her,  and  scare  her  from  His  side, 

He  took  her  own  poor  frail  humanity 
And  wore  it  as  a  veil  the  God  to  hide : 

That  she  might  let  Him  all  her  sorrows  bear, 

And  love  her  foul,  that  He  might  make  her  fair. 


And  thus  He  won  her  heart's  devotion,  when 
She  saw  how  low  He  stooped  for  her  relief; 

Despised  and  rejected  among  men, 

A  Man  of  Sorrows,  intimate  with  grief; 

And  all  to  draw  her  back  from  her  despair, 

Loving  her  foul,  that  He  might  make  her  fair. 


And,  having  poured  His  life  out  for  her  sake, 
He  left  her,  to  prepare  for  her  a  home ; 

But  with  all  precious  things  that  might  her  make 
Fairer,  against  the  day  when  He  shall  come, — 

Fragrant  and  beautiful  beyond  compare 

Through  Him,  Whose  love  had  made  her  foulness  fair. 


And  daily  in  His  absence  she  doth  live 
In  the  great  Presence  of  His  life  below, 

Fed  by  the  heavenly  food  which  he  doth  give, 
That  she  may  into  oneness  with  Him  grow; 

And  all  her  losses  may  through  Him  repair, 

Who  loved  her  foul,  that  He  might  make  her  fair. 


Sacred  Poems.  141 

And  so  she  grows  beneath  that  wondrous  Love, 

As  Bether's  lily,  or  as  Sharon's  rose, 
Fed  by  the  beams  that  woo  them  from  above, 

Each  into  bloom,  and  fragrant  beauty  blows  ; 
Repaying  all  His  tenderness  and  care, 
Who  loved  her  foul,  that  He  might  make  her  fair. 

And  when  He  comes  to  claim  her  as  His  bride, 

She  shall  not  then,  as  now,  ashamed  be, 
But  clothed  in  His  beauty,  by  His  side 

She  shall  sit  down  through  all  eternity : 
And  tell  out  to  the  angels  round  her  there 
His  Love,  which  made  what  once  was  foul  so  fair. 

y.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D 


3(n  t&e  Cime  of 


LIX. 


"There  was  a  famine  in  the  days  of  David  three  years,  year  after 
year,  and  David  enquired  of  the  Lord." — 2  Samuel,  xxi.  I. 


!RAISE  the  Lord,  for  He  is  gracious;  praise  the  Lord, 

for  He  is  just. 

Prostrate  at  His  feet,  confessing  we  are  weak  and  worthless 
dust. 


But  the  tender  love  of  Jesus,  oh,  the  wondrous  ways  of 

God! 
Oh,  the  joy  that  faith  discloses  when  we  kiss  the  chast'ning 

rod! 


142  Sacred  Poems. 

We  have  sinned  against  a  Saviour ;  we  have  sinned  e'en  to 

death. 
God  is  pleading,  gently  pleading  with  the  creatures  of  His 

breath. 


Lord,  to  Thee  be  all  the  glory  !  Lord,  to  Thee  be  all  the 

praise  ! 
When  Thy   tender  hand  doth  chasten,  it  to  us  Thy  love 

displays. 


And  the  field  around  is  wasted,  and  the  land  around  us 

mourns ; 
Man  alone  the  judgment  slighteth — man  alone  the  warning 

scorns. 


Who  hath  done  it  ?    Are  ye  standing  in  the  ways,  the  paths 

of  yore  ? 
Seek  ye   there  to  walk,   and  humbly   for  divine   support 

implore. 


Who  hath  done  it,  are  ye  asking  ?    Turn  unto  your  Maker's 

laws, 
With  the  Word  of  God  before  you,  seek  not  for  some 

hidden  cause. 


Who  hath  done  it  ?     Look  around  you :  "  Meat  cut  off 

before  your  eyes  :" 
"  'Neath  their  clods  the  seed  is  rotten  ;  desolate  each  garner 

lies." 


Who  hath  done  it?     In  your  cities  "Cleanness"  ye  "of 

teeth"  discern. 
"  Want  of  bread  in  all  your  cities ;"  Oh,  to  God !  to  God 

return. 


Sacred  Poems.  143 


Who  hath  done  it  ?    Who  but  Jesus.    He  to  whom  all  power 

belongs  ; 
He  who  all  the  wealthy  humbles  ;  He  who  weighs  the  poor 

man's  wrongs. 


He  whose  balance  just  and  true  is  ;  He  who  searcheth  all 

our  hearts  ; 
He  who  ruleth  but  by  love  —  who  knowledge  to  His  own 

imparts  ; 


He  who  sees  His  cold  professors  full  of  idols,  fraud,  and 

force ; — 
Evil  reigning  through  creation — earth's  foundations  out  of 

course ; 


He  who  tenderly  afflicteth  those  who  as  His  foes  behave ; 
He  who  plucks  us  from  the  burning,  for  a  remnant  He  will 
save. 


"  Seek  ye  me,  and  ye  shall  live."    Yea,  Lord,  my  heart  Thy 

face  will  seek, 
Of  Thy  power  I  will  make  mention,  of  Thy  kingdom's  glory 

speak. 


Nigh  to  those  who  call  upon  Thee,  their  desires  Thou  mak'st 

to  bloom ; 
With  our  eyes  upon  Thee,  waiting,  meat  shall  in  due  season 

come. 


Come,  then,  sinner,  come  to  Jesus.     He  alone  can  give 

relief. 
Bend  in  deep  humiliation,  bend  in  prayer  and  holy  grief. 


144  Sacred  Poems. 

Tis  for  you  the  land  withholdeth  plentiful  and  wonted  store  ; 
Barren  e'en  from  your  transgression,  for  its  cry  hath  waxed 
sore. 


Sanctify  a  fast  ye  people,  in  a  solemn  crowd  appear  ; 
Gather  in  God's  house  with  mourning,  and  His  best  com- 
mandments hear  ; 

But,  without  a  wedding  garment,  freely  granted  by  His  love, 
Come  not  to  His  presence;  seek  no  half  salvation  from 
above. 


Christ  is  all ;  then  add  ye  nothing  to  His  finished  sacrifice ; 
Be  your  faith  alone  in  Jesus,  lest  your  feast  day  He  despise. 

Lest  the  day  which  He  hath  threatened  come  upon  you 

from  the  Lord— - 
Judgment  worse  than  any  famine — worse  than  pestilence  or 

sword. 


Day  of  thirst,  but  not  for  water ;  day  of  dearth,  but  not  of 

bread ; 
Day  of  famine,  which  shall  gather  many   nations  to  the 

dead. 


Famine  of  the  Word  of  God,  a  famine  of  our  Saviour's 

will;— 
Then  from  sea  to  sea  ye'll  seek  him,  but  your  ear  no  comfort 

fill. 

Then,  with  signs  and  lying  wonders,  Satan  shall  bewitch 

your  eye, 
And  the  Lord  send  strong  delusion  that  ye  may  believe  a 

lie, 


Sacred  Poems.  145 

As  ye  choose  your  own  inventions,  God  will  your  delusions 

choose  ; 
But  the  Lord  is  now  beseeching — who   His  bidding   can 

refuse  ? 


Christ  is  all  !     Oh,  flee  ye  to  Him  ;  on  His  bosom  rest  and 

learn  : 
Crave  the  Holy   Spirit's  teaching — Oh,  to  God  !  to  God 

return  ! 

*    Viscount  Massereene. 


jFotirtf)  §>imt)ap  in  lent 

LX. 

CHILDREN  of  the  new  creation 
^     To  its  ruler,  Christ,  attend  ; 
Seek  for  health  and  preservation, 

From  your  only  real  Friend ; 
All  your  sins  to  Jesus  own — 
Tell  your  wants  to  Christ  alone. 

Christ,  as  Joseph,  was  rejected, 
Christ  was  by  His  brethren  sold ; 

But  the  King  hath  him  elected — 
Made  Him  Lord  of  power  untold, 

Prince  of  gifts  which  never  fade, 

Ruler  over  all  He  made. 


Lo  !  at  God's  right  hand  He  reigneth, 
Famine  through  the  land  is  sore  ; 

But  the  stranger  He  maintaineth — 
Feedeth  without  price  the  poor ; — 

Filleth  those  who  bread  require, 

Giving  all  their  souls'  desire. 
K 


146  Sacred  Poems. 

From  this  starving  world  He  calleth 

Those  He  saves  by  special  grace  ; 
Oft  by  ill  which  men  befalleth, 

Bringing  them  to  see  His  face  : 
When  they  think  He  must  condemn 
Making  known  Himself  to  them. 

Yea,  to  those  His  word  who  slighted, 
Those  who  gold  and  lies  preferred, 

Those  whom  malice  long  incited, 

Those  whom  Hell  to  murder  stirred, — 

E'en  for  those  doth  Jesus  grieve, 

Still  He  calleth,  "  Come  and  live." 

Come  to  Jesus — stay  no  longer — 

Come  to  Jesus,  sinner,  come. 
For  salvation  dost  thou  hunger  ? — 

Let  thy  mouth  no  more  be  dumb : 
Call  to  Him  whose  listening  ear 
Stoops  the  faintest  cry  to  hear. 

Oh  !  the  beauty  found  in  Jesus  ! 

Oh  !  the  joy  our  spirits  prove  ! 
He  who  called  us  will  release  us 

From  this  world  to  that  above. 
Here  our  faltering  steps  He'll  bear — 

There  with  us  His  triumph  share. 

Christ's  the  Light  before  us  burning, 

And  from  Egypt  of  our  shame, 
Led  by  Him,  we're  now  returning 

Home  to  God  whence  first  we  came ; — 
In  the  Canaan  of  His  rest 
Soon  to  reign  for  ever  blest. 

*   Viscount  Massereene, 


Sacred  Poems.  147 

of 


LXI. 

there  be  power  in  song's  harmonious  meed 

To  raise,  refine,  excite  heroic  deed, 
Or  crown  proud  virtue  with  perennial  fame, 
'Twas  God  first  gave  it,  with  a  worthier  aim. 
To  hallelujahs  —  ere  this  world  began, 
Hymned  through  all  spheres  —  He  waked  His  image,  Man. 
Touched  every  bosom-chord  with  grateful  love, 
That  earth  might  join  the  host  of  worlds  above. 

Alas  for  man  !  the  muse  but  waked  to  deck 
Sin's  fatal  triumph,  and  adorn  earth's  wreck  ; 
To  lull  stern  conscience  with  a  siren's  art, 
And  hide  death's  terrors  from  the  guilty  heart  ; 
Strew  flowers,  and  bid  life's  brawling  pageant  rave, 
With  riot  less  revolting,  o'er  the  grave  ! 

But  now,  at  hand  —  as  gathering  signs  presage 
The  rising  advent  of  a  purer  age  — 
The  favouring  winds  of  heaven  glad  tidings  pour, 
And  mercy  walks  the  waves  to  every  shore. 
Though  for  a  while  the  powers  of  air  oppose, 
And  earth's  high  places  throng  with  living  foes  ; 
Though  hell's  archangel  rear  his  gilded  horn, 
And  band  his  myriads  o'er  the  brow  of  morn  ; 
Though  wild  and  foul  revolt  the  world  dismays, 
While  warring  nations  drop  their  arms  and  gaze  : 
Still  undismayed,  the  faithful  few  unite, 
Brace  on  God's  armour,  —  and  await  the  fight. 

In  this  high  hour,  while  sin's  dark  hosts  arise, 
And  Calvary's  banner  streams  through  earth  and  skies 
The  muse,  though  late,  may  haply  yet  return,  • 
Mourn  her  sad  fall,  and  holier  incense  burn  ; 
K  2 


148  Sacred  Poems. 

Assert  her  God — and  armed  with  angel-hand, 

Like  Milton's  Abdiel,  spurn  the  apostate  band. 

As  one  to  God  new-born,  for  song  no  more 

Pieria's  fountain  shall  the  bard  explore. 

With  thirst  more  pure  than  e'er  the  Theban  knew, 

He  there  shall  quaff  life's  waters,  and  renew 

The  songs  of  Zion  in  a  happier  day, 

The  accomplished  era  of  Isaiah's  lay  ; 

Sing  present  Christ,  with  all  a  prophet's  fire, 

And  wake  to  joy  the  sleep  of  David's  lyre  ! 

The  lowliest  verse  that  ever  breathed  to  impart 

Its  simple  fervour  to  the  pious  heart, 

To  make  praise  vocal,  and  give  faith  a  voice, 

Or  help  the  humblest  Christian  to  rejoice, 

Though  feebly  lisped  from  childhood's  faltering  tongue, 

Yet  chimes  aloft,  where  heavenly  strains  are  sung ; 

That  spirit  pure — all  human  thought  above — 

Still  bears  it  up  on  wings  of  holiest  love  ! 

When  Fame's  proud  trophies  and  recording  page, 
And  all  that  power  has  heaped  through  every  age, 
With  Pharaoh's  piles  to  sightless  dust  are  hurled, 
And  He  who  launched  shall  stay  this  rolling  world ; 
Then  History's  tome — in  one  brief  sentence  read — 
Shall  speak  man's  fall,  Redemption  from  the  dead; 
Man's  sinful  dream,  while  heaven  and  hell  contend 
To  sink  or  save  him — and  the  eventful  end  ! 
Oh  !  what  may  then  one  earth-born  strain  prolong, 
When  all  earth's  themes  are  past  ?    The  Christian's  song. 

When  the  seer's  wisdom  and  the  poet's  lay 

Like  childhood's  idle  tales  are  past  away, 

Nor  more  shed  sweetness  upon  mortal  ears, 

When  Shakespeare's  self  is  silenced  with  the  spheres ; 

When  tongues  shall  cease,  and  transient  science  fail, 

The  harps  of  heaven  shall  catch  the  undying  tale. 

Past  ruin's  power,  shall  sacred  truth  embalm 

The  hallowed  hymn,  the  heavenly-breathing  psalm. 


Sacred  Poems.  149 

Strains  now  unhonoured  in  this  world's  esteem, 
When  earth  sinks  mute  shall  be  the  seraphs'  theme ; 
And  all  the  choirs  of  blessedness  employ 
The  still,  sweet  song  of  everlasting  joy  ! 

Rev.  J.    Wills,  D.D. 


Cfje  Passing  TBell 

LXII. 

7T7TJITH  its  measured  pause  and  its  long  drawn  wail, 

*****     The  minster  bell  swings  on  the  gale, 

And  saddens  the  vale  with  its  solemn  toll — 

That  passeth  away  like  a  passing  soul — 

Pulse  after  pulse  still  diminishing  on, 

Till  another  rings  forth  for  the  dead  and  gone. 

The  minute-sound  of  that  mourning  bell 
Is  the  lord's  of  the  valley — the  rich  man's  knell ; 
While  it  swells  on  his  lawns  and  his  woodlands  bright, 
He  breathes  not,  hears  not,  nor  sees  the  light ; 
On  the  couch  of  his  ease  he  lies  stiff  and  wan — 
In  the  midst  of  his  pomp  he  is  dead  and  gone. 

The  pride  has  passed  from  his  haughty  brow — 
Where  are  his  plans  and  high  projects  now  ? 
Another  lord  in  his  state  is  crowned, 
To  level  his  castles  with  the  ground  ! 
Respect  and  terror  pass  reckless  on — 
His  frowns  and  favours  are  dead  and  gone. 

Had  he  wisdom,  and  wealth,  and  fame, 
Mortal  tongue  shall  forget  his  name ; 
Other  hands  shall  disperse  his  store — 
Earthly  dream  shall  he  dream  no  more. 
His  chair  is  vacant — his  way  lies  on 
To  the  formless  cells  of  the  dead  and  gone. 


150  Sacred  Poems. 

Passing  bell  that  doth  sadly  fling 

Thy  wailing  wave  on  the  air  of  spring, 

There  is  no  voice  in  thy  long  wild  moan, 

To  tell  where  the  parted  soul  is  flown, 

To  what  far  mansion  it  travels  on, 

While  thou  tollest  thus  for  the  dead  and  gone. 

Yet,  bell  of  death,  on  the  living  air 

Thy  notes  come  bound  from  the  house  of  prayer — 

They  speak  of  the  valley  of  darkness  trod, 

On  a  path  once  walked  by  the  Son  of  God, 

Whose  word  of  promise  inviteth  on, 

Through  the  gate  unclosed  for  the  dead  and  gone. 

Rev.  J.    Wills,  D.D. 


lines  to  HDrton, 


LXIII. 

huntsman  of  the  eastern  sky,  Orion  huge  and 
bright, 
Climbing  the  dim  blue  hills  of  heaven  all  in  the  jewelled 

night  ^ 

Thy  golden  girdle  cast  around  thy  dark  and  untraced  form, 
And  thy  starry  dirk  keen  glittering  in  the  midnight's  freezing 
storm. 


Bright  issuer  from  the  cold  night  wave,  a  watery  couch  was 

thine — 
A  thousand  fathoms  weltering  deep  beneath  the  salt  sea 

brine ; 

Yet  here  thou  art,  all  standing  up  against  the  dome  of  sky, 
With   belt   and  blade,    and   limbs   of  light,   in   matchless 

brilliancy. 


Sacred  Poems.  151 

The  planets  bowled  by  God's  right  hand  along  their  whirling 

track — 

The  lamps  of  gold  that  burn  untold  o'er  the  circling  Zodiac — 
The  wild  north  lights  that  blaze  at  nights — the  white  moon's 

gleaming  ball — 
These  cannot  vie  with  thee,  Orion,  kingliest  of  them  all. 


There  are  the  Silver  Brothers — side  by  side  they  still  are 

beaming ; 
And  Perseus,  bent  like  sabre  bright,  with  blade  of  stars 

keen  gleaming ; 

Cassiopeia's  golden  chair,  and  the  Virgin's  sparkling  sheaf, 
And  Fomalhaut's  far  smile  of  light,  too  fair  to  be  so  brief. 


And  the  bold  Bull,  on  whose  broad  brow  glitters  one  eye- 
like  star, 

Gleaming  amid  the  Hyads  pale,  and  seems  to  glare  from 
'far 

On  fair  Capella's  tender  beam,  or  to  quail  beneath  the 
rays 

Of  the  lofty  Lion  brothers,  who  from  the  proud  Pole  gaze. 


And  Lyra's  graceful   harp,  hung  high,  breathes  down  its 

voiceless  might 

On  Atair's  upward  gaze  of  fire,  and  fixes  his  wild  flight : 
While  o'er  him,  all  entranced  too,  still  and  lovely,  follows 

on, 
Swimming  in  heaven's  wide  lake  of  blue,  the  white  and 

stately  Swan. 

And  the  dim  clustering  Sisters,  ever  weeping  o'er  the  sea ; 
And  the  proud  Crown,  all  sparkling  down,  huge  Hercules, 

on  thee ! 
Great  Ursa,  with  his  pointers,  treading  the  north  wastes 

cold — 
And  Bootes,  on  whose  burning  thigh  Arcturus  flames  in 

gold. 


152  Sacred  Poems. 

And  thou,  oh  !  regal  Pole-star,  in  the  vast  and  spangled 

dome 

Of  ebon  night,  the  loftiest — fast-fixed,  while  others  roam  : 
In  thy  dimness,  in  thy  farness,  there  is  mystery  and  might, 
As  thou  lookest  down  o'er  star-decked  fields  of  endless  sky 

and  night. 


Oh,  lovely  in  thy  loneliness — no  star  is  near  thee  ever ; 

While  others  set  or  circle  round  thee,  still  thou  changest 
never  : 

Faint  type  of  Him  who  fixed  thee  there,  heaven's  beacon- 
light  to  be 

For  the  lonely  step  on  the  desert  path,  or  the  wanderer  on 
the  sea. 


But  thou  and  all  thy  brilliant  brothers  sparkle  not  so  bright 
As  Orion,  kingly  constellation,  strong  hunter  of  the  night ; 
As  I  gaze  upon  thee  now,  from  my  open  lattice-pane, 
With  thy  transverse  limbs  of  glittering  light  uprising  from 
the  main. 


And  I  find  thy  name  in  "  the  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  " 

tuneful  page, 
Whose  grand  old  lyre  is  honoured  still  through  every  clime 

and  age, 
How  he  drew  thee  for  admiring  Greece  through  midnight 

fields  of  air — 
Great  huntsman,  with  thy  two  bright  dogs  chasing  the  wild 

North  Bear  ! 


And  again,  in  his  bright  verse,  he  makes  the  Ithacensian 

tell 

How  he  saw  thy  shade  in  flowery  meads  of  Elysian  Asphodel — 
A  starlike  form,  with  belted  waist,  and  mace  of  burning 

brass, 
But  like  the  figures  in  a  dream,  or  the  shadow  in  a  glass. 


Sacred  Poems.  153 

But  thy  sparkle  and  thy  name,  too,  is  on  a  better  page — 
E'en  God's  blessed  Book ;  and  here  I  find  a  record  of  thy 

age, 
How  young  and  fresh  thou  seemest  now ;  yet  thine  unaltered 

rays 
Sparkled  three  thousand  years  ago,  before  Job's  anguish'd 

gaze. 


And  the  Lord  himself,  thy  Maker,  wrapped  in  the  whirling 

storm, 
In  voice  of  thunder  named  thy  name,  o'er  His  servant's 

prostrate  form, 

As  if  He  would  arraign  the  worm  whose  troubled  spirit  dare 
Uplift  himself  'gainst  Him  who  made  a  thing  like  thee  so 

fair. 


And  tracing  thee  in  God's  bright  Book  to  another  clime  and 

age, 
The  prophet  herdsman  saw  thy  beauty,  and  transferred  it  to 

his  page, 
When  he  prayed  proud   Judah  to   repent,  from  Tekoah's 

mountain  height, 
And  seek  their  glorious  God,  who  knit  thy  beaming  bands 

of  light. 


But  most  of  all,  I  hail  thee  as  thou  comest  to  visit  me 

In  this  utter  sense  of  night  intense,  when  thoughts  are  pure 

and  free ; 
Friends  and  kinsmen  all  have  said  farewell — spoke  is  the 

last  good  night, 
And  I  am  left  alone  with  thee  and   Him  who  gave  thee 

light. 

Yet  not  alone  when  He  is  near — His  heavens  above  me 

roll, 
A  blazoned  book,  from  whence  I  draw  deep  lessons  to  my 

soul. 


154  Sacred  Poems. 

Oh  !  if  these  stars,  which  are  but  streams,  have  such  pure 

brilliancy, 
How  rich  in  waves  of  living  light  the  glorious  fount  must  be. 

And,  again,  when  night  comes   forth   in   might,  and  her 

jewelled  zone  is  rolled 
Around  her  waist,  one  burning  belt  of  diamonds,  rays,  and 

gold; 

How  solemn  is  it  then,  to  think  that  "this  excess  of  light," 
To  us  so  fair,  yet  is  not  clean  in  His  most  holy  sight. 

And  deeper  still  the  mind  would  pierce  through  the  clouded 

times  of  old, 
When  chaos  reigned — ere  creation  dawned — and  this  vault 

was  dark  and  cold, 
Till  He  spake  the  word,  and  straight  came  forth  from  the 

womb  of  ancient  night 
Ten   thousand   thousand   dazzling   suns,   and   decked   the 

heavens  with  light  ! 

Poor  feeble  types  of  His  far  beam,  the  source  and  spring  of 

day! 

How  faint  and  dim  you  shine  beside  his  unapproached  ray  ! 
Your  lamps  are  bright  for  life's  brief  night,  yet  soon  to  pale 

and  die, 
When  o'er  the  expectant  world  shall  dawn  the  Day-star  from 

on  high. 

Daybreak  o'er  the  dark  mountains,  foretold  in  prophet's  story, 
Upspringing,  kindling  far  and  near,  a  morn  of  matchless 

glory- 
When  He   who   wore   the  thorns  of  yore  shall  tread  the 

sounding  earth, 
And  His  smile  of  light  beam  broad  and  bright  o'er  a  new 

creation's  birth. 

*  Rev.  R.  S.  Brooke,  D.D. 


Sacred  Poems.  155 


ligfjt  anu 

LXIV. 


WOULD  fain  enjoy  the  sunshine, 

Yet  the  shadow  ever  falls, 
Something  dark  within,  without  me, 

Casts  it  on  my  prison  walls  ; 
Then  I  questioned  with  my  spirit, 
"  Wherefore  is  thy  day  so  dim, 
When  God's  light  is  all  around  thee, 
And  its  source  is  all  in  Him?" 


And  my  spirit  maketh  answer, 

"  Yes,  God's  light  is  all  on  earth, 
Like  a  river  brimming  over 

From  the  fountain  of  its  birth  ; 
Spite  of  all  man's  aberrations, 

Scathe  and  sorrow,  shame  and  strife, 
Like  a  sunlit  sea  it  ripples 

Ever  up  the  shores  of  life." 


Then  I  answered  to  my  spirit, 

"  If  God's  light  indeed  be  so, 
Like  a  fountain  in  its  fulness, 

Like  a  sea-tide  in  its  flow  ! 
Then  the  fault  is  mine,  inherent 

In  this  dark  and  heavy  clay, 
Kneaded  up  throughout  my  nature, 

Barring  thus  the  light  of  day ; 


Yet  the  glory,  unattainted, 

Rests  on  all  that  round  us  lies, 

On  the  lily's  silver  chalice, 

On  the  rosebud's  crimson  dyes, 


156  Sacred  Poems. 

On  the  green  and  flashing  billow 
Bursting  all  in  balls  of  light, 

On  the  thousand  diamond  dewdrops 
Weeping  for  the  parted  night." 

Then  resumed  my  spirit,  "  Surely 

These  things  have  their  shadows  too, 
Time  will  dim  the  lily's  lustre, 

Turn  to  dust  the  rosebud's  hue ; 
Underneath  the  bright  green  billow 

Blanch  the  million  bones  of  men  ; 
Come  and  seek  the  dew  at  noon-day, 

Will  you  find  its  sparkle  then  ? 

Yet  God's  light  is  still  around  us, 

Shining  on  with  temper'd  ray, 
-  Through  the  many  mists  and  sorrows 

That  obscure  His  people's  way. 
And,  bethink  you  how  the  Saviour 

Walked  in  shadow  all  his  years — 
Was  He  not  '  with  grief  acquainted  ? ' 

Was  He  not  a  '  man  of  tears  ?'  " 


Then  I  answered  to  my  spirit, 

"  If  my  Master  wore  the  gloom 
Ere  He  won  the  glory,  may  I 

Humbly  then  His  part  assume ; 
Still  through  light  and  shade  press  onward, 

With  a  soul  serene  and  tender, 
Till  the  golden  bells  of  heaven 

Ring  me  in  to  cloudless  splendour. 

*  Rev.  R.  S.  Brooke,  D.D. 


Sacred  Poems.  157 


"JLoticst  t&oii 

LXV. 

"  -2TOVEST  thou  Me  ?  "     To  him  who  wailed  his  folly 
*"    Came  these  sad,  searching  words  his  heart  to  prove, 
While  he,  from  out  that  heart's  deep  melancholy, 

Could  only  answer,  "  Lord,  Thou  know'st  I  love;" 
Yet  mourned  he  on,  for  memory  ever  kept 
That  look,  which  "when  he  thought  thereon,  he  wept." 

And  yet  he  says  "  Rejoice,"  for  strangely  blent 
Are  joy  and  grief  within  us,  although  born 

At  different  springs,  grief  from  our  dust  is  sent — 
Nature's  dark  dew ;  while  from  high  peaks  of  morn 

The  joy-beam  falls ;  and  thus  they  stand  together, 

Like  cloud  and  bow,  in  the  heart's  weeping  weather. 

Joy  checks  not  human  grief — our  Lord  could  weep, 
Yet  in  that  hour  His  soul  rejoiced  again ; 

Grief  dims  not  holy  joy — One  "fell  asleep," 
Foretasting  bliss  while  tasting  bitterest  pain ; 

Yet  does  the  heavenlier  passion  still  prevail, 

As  the  sweet  moon  shines  out  through  mist  and  gale. 

It  is  our  lot,  pilgrims  of  night,  to  mourn, 
Treading  this  thorny  life-path,  wounding  all ; 

It  is  Thy  love,  O  God,  which  comes  to  turn 
Our  tears  to  diamonds,  sparkling  as  they  fall : 

Our  darkest  grief  still  brings  Thy  largest  light, 

As  stars  shine  keenliest  in  the  winter  night. 

Thou  knowest  I  love,  though  small  my  love  may  be, 

O  Father,  grant  a  fuller,  freer  measure, 
That  my  touch'd  soul  may  turn  and  say  to  Thee, 

Thou  art  my  all  in  all,  my  life's  best  treasure ; 


158  Sacred  Poems. 

So  when  I  mix  with  others  I  may  find 

They  have  my  moments  only,  Thou  my  mind. 

Earth's  lights  die  out,  but  Heaven's  bright  lamps  of  love 
Burn  calmly  on  midst  mist  and  storm  and  shower  : 

Does  the  cloud  darken  ?     Then  the  sun's  above — 
And  even  at  life's  last  throb, — should  that  dread  hour 

Come  fraught  with  fear, — then  sorrow  is  not  sorrow, 

So  near  the  breaking  of  the  eternal  morrow. 

*  Rev.  R.  S.  Brooke,  D.D. 


egjaria  et 

(From  the  Greek  of  Ephrem  Syrus). 
LXVI. 

'S  Son  was  born — a  Light  arose,  and  darkness  fled 
from  earth  away ; 

The  world  was  bathed  in  glory,  let  it  praise  the  Source  which 
shed  the  ray. 

Forth  from  the  Virgin's  womb  HE  sped — the  shadows  fled 

before  the  light, 
And  Error,  bless  His  mighty  name  !  stole  off,  and  hid  its 

head  in  night. 

The  people  woke  to  gladness,  for  the  dawn  upon  their  dark- 
ness rose, 

The  Gentiles'  light  and  Israel's  hope  burst  from  the  Babe  in 
swaddling 'clothes. 

His  radiance  reached  the  furthest  East,  and  Persia  by  the 

golden  streams 
Was  swept  along,  nor  dared  refuse  to  worship  at  his  rising 

beams. 


Sacred  Poems.  159 

One  star,  God's  special  messenger,  came  speeding  on  un- 
resting wing, 

For  Persia's  sons  to  bid  prepare,  and  hasten  to  adore  their 
King. 

Spake  the  bright  presence  thus  to  them  :  Assyria  was  great, 

when  wise ; 
Be  wise,  ye  wise,  and  homage  pay  the  King  who  in  Judea 

lies. 


Rose  Persia's  learned  sons  and  great,  and  tarried  not  to  go 

from  thence, 
And  bore  in  pix  and  girdle,  for  their  Lord,  gold,  myrrh, 

and  frankincense. 


A  lowly  hut,  a  woman  poor,  a  child  within  a  manger's  rim 
Startled  they  find,  then  ope  their  store,  and,  falling  down, 
they  worship  HIM. 

MARIA. 

Spake  the  young  mother :  Wherefore  this  ?  strange  both  of 

speech  and  garb  are  ye ; 
Whence  come  ye  with  your  mockery  to  this  poor  babe  and 

simple  me  ?    , 

MAGI. 

They  answer :  This  your  son's  a  King — wears  many  a  crown 

— is  KING  OF  KINGS  ; 
Higher   than   earth    His   throne — His    rule   outlasting    all 

created  things. 

MARIA. 

In  sooth  such  never  happ'd  before,  that   poverty  a  king 

should  bear ; 
A  needy  woman  may  not  hope  to  filiate  an  empire's  heir. 


160  Sacred  Poems. 

MAGI. 

NEVER  BEFORE — NOR  YET  AGAIN  ;  but  NOW  shall  spring  a 

royal  stem 
From  virgin  lowliness  to  wear  the  universal  diadem. 

MARIA. 

No  gold  is  mine,  nor  may  I  boast  the  ownership  of  painted 

hall; 
This  home  is  poor  and  comfortless,  a  KING  my  SON  how 

can  ye  call  ? 

MAGI. 

Thy  son  is  Comfort,  Empire,  Wealth, — more  than  enough  a 

world  to  bless ; 
Treasures  of  earth  will  fly  away ;  but  His  will  know  nor  loss, 

nor  less. 

MARIA. 

Look  in  some  other  lordlier  home  the  monarch  ye  would 

now  require ; 
This  pauper  child  of  penury  cannot  be  He  whom  ye  desire. 

MAGI. 

Nay,  can  the  light  of  Heaven  deceive  ?  for  Heaven's  light 

fell  along  our  path  ; 
All  that  of  power  creation  owns,  that  crib  within  its  wicker 

hath. 

MARIA. 

An  infant  hushed,  a  matron  poor,  a  cheerless  cottage  meets 

your  eyes ; 
No  proof  of  kinghood  sure  is  here,  kings  would  such  paltry 

pomp  despise. 


Sacred  Poems.  161 

MAGI. 

We  mark  the  sight — a  sleeping  Babe — the  lowliest  of  the 

sons  of  earth, 
Yet  marshals  HE  the  hosts  of  heaven  that  danced  and  sang 

to  hail  His  birth. 

MARIA. 

It  cannot  be — ye  sure  mistake — or  cruel  are  in  joking  strain, 
Mocking  a  simple  village  mother ;  elsewhere  seek  a  king  to 
reign. 

MAGI. 

Nay,  maiden  mother,  thou  believe,  for  we  have  long  believed 

the  lay, 
THY  SON'S  A  KING,  a  star  hath  said  that  lightened  hither  all 

our  way. 

MARIA. 

That  infant  form,  that  uncrown'd  head,  that  manger  all  un- 
like a  throne, 

Oh,  these  bespeak  no  royalty,  that  ye  this  babe  for  King 
should  own. 

MAGI. 

Infant  is  HE  because  He  wills,  and  would  be  hid  until  His 

showing ; 
Ere  long  earth's  mightiest  sons  will  own  His  sovereignty, 

before  Him  bowing. 

MARIA. 

No  host,  no  legion  boasteth  he,  no  cohort  his  of  shielded 

men ; 
His  mother's  poverty  he  shares.     A  King  !  how  may  ye  call 

him  then  ? 

L 


1 62  Sacred  Poems. 

MAGI. 

The  host  thy  Son  doth  wield  's  aloft ;  they  ride  the  Heavens 

— they  flash  in  flame ; 
One   silver-mailed    herald-star    forth    summoned   us   from 

whence  we  came. 

MARIA. 

A  babe  just  born  !  how  can  it  be — infant  of  days,  obscure, 

unknown — 
My  boy  should  rule  the  famed  and  strong — that  these  should 

bend  before  his  throne  ? 

MAGI. 

That  Babe  is  old,  O  virgin  mother  !    ANCIENT   OF   DAYS 

thine  Infant  is — 
Old  when  the  world  was  young,  and  young  when  in  its 

death-fires  Earth  shall  hiss. 

MARIA. 

Ope  these  mysterious  words,  they  make  strange  recollections 

in  my  brain — 
Echoes  of  byegone  visions.     Say,  what  is  the  secret  of  His 

reign  ? 

MAGI, 

Or,  ere  we  tell  thee  all,  believe  that  had  not  truth  us  hither 

driven, 
We  ne'er  had  left  our  fatherland  in  search  of  Him,  of  hope, 

of  heaven. 

MARIA. 

Men  of  dark  sayings,  ease  my  heart,  disclose  this  burning 

mystery ; 
Say  what  took  place  in  your  far  land,  what  mission  brought 

you  here  to  me  ? 


Sacred  Poems.  163 

MAGI. 

A  star  was  our  conductor,  shining  more  than  stars  are  wont 

to  shine ; 
The  new-born  KING  its  light  announced,  and  led  us  to  this 

spot  divine. 

MARIA. 

Oh,  hush  these  tidings  !   be  they  ne'er  divulged  within  this 

land  of  ours, 
Lest   the  Boy's  life  be  planned  against  by  the  conscious 

ruler's  envious  powers. 

MAGI. 

Yield  not  to  fear,  O  mother  dear,  all  empire  He  will  yet 

destroy ; 
Nor  shall  the  wicked's  wickedness  have  potency  to  hurt  the 

Boy. 

MARIA. 

Herod,  the  ravening  wolf  of  Edom,  makes  me  tremble  in- 
secure, 

Lest  this  true  vine's  tendril  be  cut  off  yet  green  and  im- 
mature. 

MAGI. 

Thy  Boy  is  safe,  fond  mother,  let  not  Herod's  fear  thy  soul 

appal ; 
Sure  as  he  reigneth  now,  before  thy  son  his  crown  and 

throne  shall  fall. 

MARIA. 

Jerusalem  is  filled  with  blood,  the  streets  are  choked  with 

righteous  dead  ; 
Ye  little  know  the  gloomy  king ;  respect  an  anxious  mother's 

dread. 


164  Sacred  Poems. 

MAGI. 

The  Boy  shall  stay  those  bloody  streams,  shall  blunt  the 

sharp  uplifted  lance ; 
The  sword  that  frays  Jerusalem  shall  not  without  His  leave 

advance. 

MARIA. 

Were  there  no  other  foe,  the  Scribes  and  Priests  would  make 

my  deadly  fear, 
Who  slay  in  secret.     Strangers,  hush  !  lest  subtle  foes  you 

overhear. 

MAGI. 

Nor  envious  Scribe,  nor  haughty  Priest,  is  able  to  invade 

His  peace ; 
Cometh  the  hour,  'tis  nearing  now,  when  Priest  and  Scribe 

for  aye  shall  cease. 

MARIA. 

Ye  men  of  God,  I  hail  you  now;    your  advent  wakes  a 

troubled  joy 
To  me,  like  angel-tidings  came,  some  months  agone,  about 

the  Boy. 

MAGI. 

The  same  to  us,  God's  mighty  herald  came  in  likeness  of  a 

star, 
To  tell  of  His  nativity,  Heaven's  brightest  sons  exceeding 

far. 

MARIA. 

But,  said  the  angel  whom  I  saw,  His  kingdom  ne'er  shall 

know  an  end, 
And  bade  his  poor  handmaiden  keep  the  secret,  lest  the  tale 

offend. 


Sacred  Poems.  165 

MAGI. 

To  us  the  star  revealed  that  we  the  Lord  of  Kings  should 

find  in  Him. 
Though  bright  the  star,  and  clear  the  straw,  we  saw  no  form 

of  cherubim. 

MARIA. 

His  LORD  the  glorious  Gabriel  called  Him,  ere  He  quickened 

in  the  womb. 
THE  HIGHEST'S  SON.     His  fatherhood,  say  strangers,  will 

ye  give  to  whom  ? 

MAGI. 

Spake   the   bright   star  to   us,  and   said :    that,   LORD    OF 

HEAVEN,  Thy  Son  was  born. 
He  ruled  the  jewell'd  night,  and  His  behest  awoke  the  light 

of  morn. 

MARIA. 

Receive  the  tidings,  men  of  God,  Heaven  to  you  doth  its 

purpose  show ; 
A  virgin-mother  bears  a  son — GOD'S  SON — proclaim  it  as  ye 

go- 

MAGI. 

'Tis  known  !  the  star  foretold  it  all — that  nature's  laws  are 

here  supprest, 
And  great  JEHOVAH  forms  a  son  beneath  a  virgin-mother's 

breast. 

MARIA. 

Ye  height  and  depth,  ye  stars  and  angels,  tell  the  mystery  of 

His  birth ; 
GOD'S  SON,  AND  LORD  OF  ALL  is  HE.     Let  the  great  secret 

traverse  earth. 


1 66  Sacred  Poems.. 

MAGI. 

One  star  illumed  our  concave  blue,   sealing  the  truth  to 

Persia's  land, 
That  HE  was  born  the  SON  OF  GOD,  and  all  earth's  sway  was 

in  His  hand. 


MARIA. 

Peace  to  that  land  of  faith  be  given,  may  peace  abound  upon 

its  coasts  ! 
Peace  be  with  you  who  preach  the  Incarnation  of  the  Lord 

of  Hosts  ! 


MAGI. 

His  peace  conduct  us  home  which  brought  us  hitherward 

right  peacefully ; 
And,  when  His  kingdom  comes,  may  our  dear  land  His 

power  and  presence  see  ! 

MARIA. 

May  Persia  joy  at  your  return, — Assyria  its  exalting  share  ! 
And,  when  my  son  comes  forth  to  reign,  He'll  plant  His 
conquering  standard  there. 


Sing,   grateful   church;  the   birth   of  CHRIST  !     Bless   our 

Emanuel's  name  again  ! 
The  Light  of  Heaven  and  Earth,  the  mighty  breaker  of  the 

captive's  chain  ! 
The  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life,  the  gracious  gladdener  of  all 

hearts  !     Amen  ! 

*  Rev.  Orlando  T.  Dobbin,  LL.D. 


Sacred  Poems.  167 


anD  tfje 

fce0j0ott 
LXVII. 


/^THROUGH  mighty  Nineveh 
^     Behold  the  Prophet  go  ; 
His  weeds  of  sackcloth  grey, 

His  words,  the  words  of  woe  : 
"  Woe  to  the  minaret  ! 

"  Woe  to  the  tow'r  and  hall  : 
"  Ere  forty  suns  are  set 

"  Proud  Nineveh  shall  fall." 


The  Palace  walls  are  high, 

Ten  thousand  guards  are  round  ; 
Yet  pierced  that  wailing  cry 

The  inmost  chamber's  bound. 
The  Monarch  in  his  pride 

Waxed  pale  upon  his  throne — 
He  turned  to  every  side, 

But  comforter  was  none. 


His  pomp  he  straight  laid  down, 

He  bowed  before  the  Lord  : 
His  head  with  ashes  strewn, 

Remission  he  implored. 
His  subjects  with  him  wove 

The  penitential  prayer — 
"  Unworthy  of  Thy  love 

"  Yet  spare,  Jehovah,  spare." 

Then  ceased  the  Lord  to  frown — 
The  Prophet's  task  was  o'er ; 

Peace  beamed  benignly  down 
Where  menaced  Wrath  before  : 


1 68  Sacred  Poems. 

The  Seer  it  pleased  not  now 
Jehovah  should  relent ; 

Gloom  gathered  on  his  brow, 
He  murmured  discontent. 


"  Oh  !  why  should  Justice  fail 

"  Her  insults  to  avenge  ? 
•'  Or  why  th'  Immutable 

"  His  purpose  lightly  change  ? 
"  God's  nerveless  arm  and  aim 

"  Th'  ungodly  will  defy  : 
"  And  peal  the  false  Seer's  name 

"  In  laughter  to  the  sky." 


Indignant  at  the  thought, 
The  city's  dust  he  spurned ; 

Without  the  walls  a  spot 

Of  shade  his  eye  discerned — 

There  laid  him  down  ;  the  Lord 

Forgave  his  frenzied  grief, 
And  o'er  him  raised  a  gourd 

Most  fair  in  fruit  and  leaf. 


With  morn  the  east  wind  blew — 

Decay  was  at  its  core  ; 
The  day  was  still  but  new — 

The  gourd's  short  life  was  o'er. 
Unchecked  the  sunbeam's  fire — 

Unscreened  the  Prophet's  head- 
'Twixt  mingled  grief  and  ire, 

"  'Twere  better  die,"  he  said. 


"  Frail  mortal !  proud  as  frail." 
Thus  spake  th'  eternal  King  ; 

"  Shalt  thou  a  weed  bewail, 
"  Insensate,  worthless  thing  ? 


Sacred  Poems.  169 

"  And  shall  not  God,  the  Lord, 

"  Th'  immortal  myriads  spare, 
"  Who  contritely  implored 

"  His  grace  with  tears  and  prayer  ? 

"  That  gourd  no  dew  of  thine, 

"  No  glowing  sunbeam  fed  ; 
"  To  bid  it  spring  was  mine, 

"  Or  rank  it  with  the  dead. 
"  Work  thy  capricious  will 

"  With  ought  that  is  thine  own  ; 
"  The  task  to  save  or  kill 

"  Jehovah's  is  alone. 

"  Were  grace  to  those  who  spare, 

"  Death  to  the  pitiless, 
"  Th'  unchanging  doom  which  ne'er 

"  Admits  recal,  redress — 
"  By  the  stern  human  creed, 

"  Were  God  a  man  like  thee — 
"  Oh,  where  should  be  thy  meed  ? 

"  Oh,  what  should  be  thy  plea  ?" 

*  Rev.  Orlando  T.  Dobbin,  LLD. 


King  <£Dtom, 

A.D.    627. 
LXVIII. 

IGH  sate  King  Edwin  in  his  hall, 

Around  him  ranged  his  wise  men  all 
Queen  Ethelberga  by  his  side 
Was  pleading  for  the  Crucified. 
Then  thus  the  King  : — "  Ho,  Sages,  say, 
"  Shall  we  Paulinus  hear  to-day ; 


1 70  Sacred  Poems. 

11  Shall  we  our  olden  gods  forsake. 
"  And  Christ  our  only  Master  make ; 
"  Speak,  shall  we  at  this  council-board 
"  Vow  fealty  to  Christ  as  Lord  ?" 

Coin,  chief  of  priests,  the  snows 
Of  decades  on  his  head,  uprose 
And  spake  : — "  O  King,  weigh  well  what  now 
"  Is  preached  to  us ;  for,  I  avow 
"  Those  gods  whom  I  have  served  so  long 
"  Have  proven  false,  and  wrought  me  wrong ; 
"  Others,  who  served  them  less,  I  own, 
"  Are  nearer  to  thy  heart  and  throne. 
"  If  the  new  doctrines  are  more  just, 
*'  In  them  let  us  repose  our  trust." 

Another  rose,  of  honoured  name, 
And  spake  approving  of  the  same : — 
"  The  present  life  of  man,  O  King, 
"  Seems  like  a  bird  upon  the  wing  : 
"  A  sparrow  flitting  through  the  room 
"  Wherein  you  sup  in  winter's  gloom, 
"  Statesmen  and  captains  feasting  there 
"  In  the  huge  log-fire's  ruddy  glare. 
"  When  storms  of  snow  abroad  prevail, 
"  In  flies  the  bird  to  shun  the  gale 
"  By  one  door,  and  then  out  again 
"  By  the  other  ;  whilst  he  did  remain 
"  Fair  weather  had  he,  safe  and  warm ; 
"  But  soon  he  passed  into  the  storm 
"  Once  more,  and  vanished  from  our  sight 
"  Into  the  dark  and  wintry  night. 
"  Such  is  the  soul  in  life,  I  trow, 
"  Its  whence  and  whither  none  can  know. 
"  If,  therefore,  this  new  doctrine  hold 
"  More  certain  knowledge,  leave  the  old." 

Thus  wisely  spake  the  wise  ;  and,  when 
The  words  seemed  pleasant  to  all  men, 
Paulinus — by  the  King's  command — 
Preached  to  the  nobles  of  the  land ; 
And  kindled  in  all  hearts  the  flame 
Of  holy  zeal  for  Christ's  dear  name. 


Sacred  Poems.  171 

"Who,"  quoth  the  King,  "will  first  profane 

"  Altars  and  shrines  and  idols  vain  ?" 

Whereat  the  priest  Coifi  cried  : — 

"  Arms  and  a  horse  !     I  wish  to  ride 

"  Against  them  ;  I,  of  old  their  slave, 

"  From  my  ill  counsel  fain  would  save 

"  My  country.     For  this  hand,  now  free, 

"  Shall  set  the  rest  at  liberty." 

Straightway  the  King's  attendants  brought 

The  arms  and  good  steed  which  he  sought. 

He  girds  the  sword,  he  grasps  the  spear, 

And  mounts  the  charger  without  fear  ; 

And  straight  to  where  the  idols  stood 

He  fiercely  rode.     The  multitude 

Deemed  him  distraught,  and  watched  to  see 

The  fruit  of  his  profanity. 

B.ut  he  rode  dauntlessly  anear ; 

He  reined  his  steed  and  hurled  his  spear. 

The  idols — stupid,  dumb,  and  grim — 

Stood  motionless  and  stared  at  him. 

Unhurt,  he  galloped  back  again, 

And  led  the  crowds  with  might  and  main 

Altars  and  images  to  break 

And  grind  to  dust  for  Christ,  His  sake. 

That  night  was  painted  red  enow 

By  fires  that  laid  the  temples  low. 

The  morning  saw  the  priest  baptized, 

And  Christ's  salvation  widely  prized. 

*  Rev.  R.    W.  Buckley,  D.D. 


listening  angel 

LXIX. 


>JTTIS  an  angel  of  light  and  love 

^*^  On  a  mission  from  heaven  above. 
'Mid  flight  he  pauseth  awhile, 
And  his  bright  eyes  wear  a  smile  : 


172  Sacred  Poems. 

For  he  hears  the  wide  welkin  ring 

With  the  harps  of  celestial  string. 

His  fellows  of  mould  immortal 

Throng  around  the  golden  portal, 

As,  happy  and  young  and  fair, 

They  peer  down  the  cloudy  stair 

At  this  speck  of  a  world  of  care. 

Not  long  doth  he  pause  to  listen, 

Not  long  his  upraised  eyes  glisten, 

Not  long  doth  he  poise  his  pinions 

On  the  marge  of  the  sun's  dominions ; 

But  the  while  the  waves  of  sound 

From  the  diamond  walls  rebound, 

That  the  echoes  may  please  his  ear, 

Now  that  sorrow  and  clouds  are  near ; 

Not  long  the  delay ;  for  to-night 

He  must  soothe,  with  slumber  light, 

The  mortal  frame  of  a  maiden  lying 

Lamented,  despaired  of,  dying. 

He  must  soothe  the  pillow  of  death, 

And  relieve  the  labour' d  breath 

And  burden'd  heart  of  a  child  of  sorrow, 

On  whom  it  will  dawn  an  endless  morrow, 

Amongst  the  redeemed  in  white 

In  the  beautiful  land  of  light. 

"  Oh,  angel  !  haste  on  thine  embassy, 

"  For  in  her  who  dieth  my  heart  doth  lie ; 

"  And  when  the  sad  task  is  o'er, 

"Waft  her  to  the  deathless  shore." 

He  listens  no  more,  but  departs 

To  the  circle  of  breaking  hearts ; 

Like  falling  dew  his  presence  they  feel, 

Who  around  the  bedside  kneel, 

And  he  ministers  there  as  he  stands. 

With  the  gentlest  and  softest  of  hands, 

Until  the  last  breath  is  drawn 

In  the  hush  of  the  chilly  dawn. 

*  Rev.  R.    W.  Buckley,  D.D. 


Sacred  Poems.  173 


in 


LXX. 

2f  S  when  a  seeker  findeth 

™*     The  gem  most  rare  and  bright  ; 

As  when  the  warrior,  brave  and  bold, 

Wins  banners  in  the  fight  ; 
So  joy'd  angelic  messengers 

From  earth,  far  off  and  dim, 
Returned  to  the  skies,  with  nobler  prize, 

Shouting  their  seraph-hymn. 


Triumphant,  from  the  spot  where  blood 

First  stained  the  young  earth's  sod, 
They  bore  the  soul  of  martyr'd  saint 

To  heaven,  and  home,  and  God : 
And  ere  the  clay  was  sepulchred, 

And  ere  a  mourner  wept, 
Through  heaven's  gate,  in  royal  state, 

The  angel-convoy  swept. 


Hail,  first  arrived  in  glory  ! 

Thy  welcome  angels  sing  ; 
Thy  martyr-brow  is  diademed 

By  thy  Redeemer  King  : 
In  heaven  thou  art  a  wonder, 

A  novel  sight  to  see  : 
Thron'd  seraphs  gaze,  in  rapt  amaze, 

On  thee,  saved  soul,  on  thee  ! 


Hark  !  hark  !  the  stranger  spirit 

Uplifts  the  voice  of  praise ; 
Whilst  wondering  heaven  lists,  well  pleased, 

To  those  entrancing  lays. 


174  Sacred  Poems. 

The  new  song  that  he  singeth 
His  voice  alone  can  sing  : — 

"  He  loved  me,  and  He  washed  me, 
And  made  me  priest  and  king." 

As  when  a  thousand  choristers 

Have  stayed  the  flow  of  song, 
That  one  sweet  warbling  voice  might  pour 

Its  music  on  the  throng  ; 
As  when  the  songsters  of  the  grove 

Are  hushed  at  evening's  fall, 
The  nightingale  alone  is  heard, 

The  sweetest  of  them  all : — 


As  when  the  chimes  of  ocean 

Have  settled  into  calm, 
And  stealing  o'er  the  water  comes 

The  sailor's  vesper-psalm  ; — 
So  harps  and  voices  all  were  hushed, 

And  seraph-bands  were  stilled, 
As  Abel's  song  the  raptur'd  throng 

Of  list'ning  angels  thrilled. 

That  solitary  singer 

Sings  now  in  a  mighty  band  ; 
For  thousand  thousands  since  have  joined, 

From  every  age  and  land. 
Oh,  may  we  swell  the  minstrelsy 

With  which  vast  heaven  rings  : — 
"  He'  loved  us,  and  He  washed  us, 

And  made  us  priests  and  kings." 

Rev.   Thomas  M^Cullagh,    W.M. 


Sacred  Poems.  175 


990000  on 

LXXI. 


7f7[|ITH  bold  and  tireless  footsteps 
*****     By  precipice  and  scar, 
He  climbed  the  steep  Abarim, 

And  Nebo's  range  afar,— 
Till  the  grey  crest  of  Pisgah 

The  grand  old  Prophet  bore  ; 
His  heart  as  warm,  as  strong  his  arm, 

As  a  hundred  years  before. 


His  eagle-eye  as  piercing 

As  when,  in  youthful  days, 
O'er  the  strange  old  lore  of  Egypt 

It  burned  with  ardent  blaze  : 
And  to  that  eye  of  lightning 

God  showed  the  promised  land, 
In  all  its  worth,  from  South  to  North- 

From  East  to  the  utmost  strand. 


Lebanon's  goodly  mountain 

The  old  man  joyed  to  view; 
And  Bashan,  too,  with  its  oak-wreath 'd  crown, 

And  Carmel's  fading  blue ; 
And  Gilead,  and  Tabor, 

And  Olivet's  fair  green ; 
And  Zion's  hill,  with  rapture's  thrill, 

And  Calvary,  were  seen. 


All  pleasant  were  the  valleys 
O'er  which  his  vision  rolled  ; 

Achor,  with  all  its  lowing  herds, 
And  Sharon's  verdant  fold ; 


176  Sacred  Poems. 

Jezreel  showed  its  vineyards ; 

Jehoshaphat  its  stream  ; 
And  Eschol's  vale,  and  Shaveh's  dale, 

Looked  like  a  Prophet's  dream. 


The  land  of  brooks  and  fountains 

Lay  'neath  the  Seer's  glance  ; 
He  saw  the  Arnon  gambol ; 

He  saw  the  Jabbok  dance ; 
The  ancient  river  Kishon 

Swept  on  in  wrathful  force ; 
And  the  Kidron  mild,  like  a  playing  child, 

Laughed  in  its  flowery  course  ; 


The  Dead  Sea  and  Gennesaret, 

Like  gems  on  a  stately  King, 
Were  joined  on  Canaan's  royal  robe 

By  Jordan's  pearly  string  ; 
And  the  mantle  green  of  the  beauteous  Queen 

With  many  a  jewel  beamed ; 
For  the  distant  rills  amongst  the  hills 

Like  threads  of  silver  seemed. 


Oh,  who  can  tell  the  rapture 

That  fired  the  Prophet's  breast, 
As,  afar,  he  saw  where  The  Oath  was  sworn 

To  his  forefathers  blest ! 
Old  Mamre's  plain  and  Sichem  ; 

Bethel,  by  angels  trod  ; 
And  Gerar,  too,  where  the  promise  true 

Was  ratified  by  God. 


But,  alas  !  the  princely  quarry, 
Which  Death  pursued  so  long, 

Upon  the  brow  of  Nebo 

Is  struck  by  the  archer  strong  ! 


Sacred  Poems.  177 

The  eagle-eye  grows  strangely  dim, 

The  beauteous  landscape's  fled  ; 
And  a  funeral  band  of  angels  stand 

Around  the  kingly  dead  ! 

He  must  not  cross  the  Jordan, 

Nor  dwell  in  the  goodly  land  ; 
But  a  better  country  welcomes  him 

To  the  glorious  Prophet-band  : 
Not  cedar  trees,  but  trees  of  life 

For  ever  flourish  here  ; 
Not  Jordan's  rush,  but  rivers  gush 

With  living  waters  clear. 

Thus,  oft  the  God  of  Moses 

With  sorrow  bows  the  head ; 
For  which  He  gems  a  crown  of  life, 

To  crown  the  faithful  dead  • 
Thus,  oft  refuses  earthly  bliss, 

While  higher  bliss  is  given  ; 
Denies  us  health,  and  denies  us  wealth, 

But  bids  us  enter  heaven. 

Rev.   Thomas  M'Cullagh,    W.M. 


Emgtiom,  tfte  potoer,  ant)  tfje 

LXXII. 

'JF'HINE,  Father  !  is  the  kingdom  ; 
^^     This  truth  no  heart  can  doubt, 
Thy  presence  when  we  feel  within, 
And  see  Thy  works  without : 

Thine  are  the  earth  and  ocean, 
Thine  are  the  day  and  night : 

Thou  movest  in  the  moving  heavens, 
And  shinest  in  the  light ; 

M 


Sacred  Poems. 

And  Thine  the  voice  of  wisdom 
That  speaks  within  the  breast, 

And  giveth  guidance  to  the  strong, 
And  to  the  weary  rest. 


And  Thine  the  power,  O  Father  ! 
The  power  we  feel  and  see — 

The  powers  of  nature  and  of  mind-- 
Have all  their  source  in  Thee : 


Thine  are  the  rain  and  sunshine, 
And  Thine  the  lightning's  blaze  : 

Thine  is  the  power  that  glows  in  life, 
And  Thine  the  power  that  slays  ; 


And  Thine  the  power,  O  Saviour  ! 

Which  can  alone  be  made 
Perfect  in  weakness  ;  Thine  the  strength 

Whereon  the  souls  are  stayed 


Of  heroes  and  of  martyrs  ; 

The  power  is  Thine  to  free 
From  fear  and  sin,  and  over  death 

To  give  the  victory. 


But  where,  O  Lord,  Thy  glory  ? 

Thy  kingdom's  brightness,  where  ? 
In  clouded  skies  and  stormy  seas, 

In  hardly  answered  prayer, 


In  stars  that  burn  to  ashes, 
In  life  that  ends  in  dust, 

Oh,  must  we  seek  Thy  glory  there, 
Thou  merciful  and  just  ? 


Sacred  Poems.  179 

It  is  not  so.     Thy  glory, 

O  Father,  must  have  shined 
Where'er  Thy  power  and  kingdom  are  : 

It  is  that  we  are  blind. 


We  see  but  gleams  and  flashes 
From  a  hidden  brightness  dart; 

Oh,  give  us  eyes  to  see  Thee,  Lord, 
In  glory  as  Thou  art ! 


But  are  not  gleams  and  flashes 
Enough  for  such  as  we  ? 

The  full  unveiling  of  Thy  face 
No  mortal  eye  may  see; 


And  is  it  not  sufficient 

For  us,  if  we  behold 
Thy  brightness  where  the  sunbeams  shine, 

And  where  the  stars  are  rolled ; 


And  if  we  see  Thy  glory 

Reflected  in  the  face 
Of  those  who  live  in  Thee,  and  die 

Triumphant  in  Thy  grace  ? 


Were  I  to  hear  Thee  saying, 
"  Servant  of  God,  well  done  ! 

Thy  work  is  proved,  thy  sins  forgiven, 
Thy  battle  fought  and  won  ; 


"  The  harvest  of  thy  sowing 
The  time  to  come  shall  reap ; 

Now  lay  thee  down  in  perfect  peace 
For  everlasting  sleep ;" 

M  2 


180  Sacred  Poems. 

So  great  would  be  the  blessing " 

I  could  not  ask  for  more ; 
No  wish  nor  prayer  my  lips  could  frame — 

I  only  could  adore. 

But  more  than  this  we  hope  for : 

And  what  we  long  for  most 
Is  not  to  join  the  adoring  song 

On  heaven's  eternal  coast ; 

And  not  to  meet  the  loved  ones 

Assembled  round  Thy  throne  ; 
What  most  we  long  for,  Lord,  is  this — 

To  know  as  we  are  known  ; 

To  gaze  upon  Thy  glory 

With  face  to  face,  and  live  : 
For  this  includes  all  blessings,  Lord, 

Which  even  Thou  canst  give. 

*  Joseph  John  Murphy. 


LXXIII. 


HAVE  ere  now  been  half  inclined 
To  wish  the  present  life  were  all  ; 
That  death  upon  the  soul  might  fall, 
And  darkness  overwhelm  the  mind; 


Not  that  I  envied  then  the  beast 
Which  never  thinks  of  good  and  ill, 
And  only  cares  to  eat  his  fill 

At  mighty  Nature's  bounteous  feast  ; 


Sacred  Poems.  181 

But,  that  our  motives  might  be  pure, 
And  free  our  choice,  and  clear  our  way, 
The  law  of  conscience  to  obey, 

Whether  to  act  or  to  endure  ; 


To  fight  with  sin,  without  regard 
To  conquests  in  the  battle  won  ; 
To  say  at  last,  "  My  work  is  done  : 

I  die,  and  seek  for  no  reward." 

And  yet  I  know  'tis  better  far 

That  faith  sbould  look  beyond  the  grave 
On  Him  who  died  the  world  to  save, 

And  rose  to  be  the  polar  star, 

For  ever,  of  our  hope  and  love ; 

To  guide  us  on,  through  death  and  night, 
To  realms  of  deathless  life  and  light- 
To  mansions  of  the  blest  above. 


I  know  'tis  well  to  trust  the  Power 

Who  makes  the  buried  seeds  to  bloom, 
That  He  will  raise  me  from  the  tomb, 

As  summer's  breath  awakes  a  flower ; 

To  take  a  child  upon  my  knee, 
Or  lay  what  was  my  friend  in  dust, 
And  feel  a  reverential  trust 

That  He  who  made  them  both  to  be — 


Who  gives  us  death  as  well  as  birth, 
And  maketh  children  grow  to  men — 
Will  give  us  other  life  again, 

More  blessed  than  the  life  on  earth. 

*  Joseph  John  Murphy. 


1 82  Sacred  Poems. 

an  3[ncitient  on  tfte  mituera, 

LXXIV. 

J1JNDER  an  aged  olive,  by  the  sea, 

^*     A  charcoal  fire,  and  fish  thereon,  and  bread — 

For  there  a  fisher  crew  their  meal  had  spread — 

I  saw ;  and  as  I  saw,  to  Galilee 

My  thoughts  were  borne,  and  to  the  beach  where  said 

The  Saviour  to  the  Apostle,  Lovs't  thou  Me  ? 

I  could  not  speak  like  Peter,  but,  instead, 

I  felt  mine  eyes  with  silent  tears  grow  dim, 

To  think  how  weak  and  faint  my  love  for  Him. 

Yet  I  have  served  Him  for  a  length  of  years  ; 
I  would  not  hide  one  secret  from  His  sight ; 
And  yet  I  have  not  done  with  doubts  and  fears  ; 
My  path  is  but  a  darkness  crossed  with  light, 
And  Heaven  most  like  a  clouded  heaven  appears ; 
His  joy  by  flashes  only  have  I  gained, 
His  constant  peace  I  never  have  attained. 

And  so  it  was  with  Peter  and  the  rest. 
They  knew  that  He  who  died  was  raised  again, 
But  knew  not  of  the  blessings  they  possessed, 
And  spread  the  net  once  more,  their  food  to  gain, 
And  all  the  night  they  spread  the  net  in  vain  ; 
But  when  the  morning  glowed  upon  the  lake, 
The  Saviour  stood  upon  the  shore,  and  spake. 

And  unto  me  He  spake,  that  summer  day, 
Under  the  olives,  on  Liguria's  shore. 
And  though  I  made  no  answer,  He  will  stay. 
He  stands  beside  me  when  I  cannot  pray, 
He  follows  me  and  finds  me  when  I  stray, 
And  leads  me  back  to  bless  Him  and  adore. 


Sacred  Poems.  183 

The  pure  in  heart  shall  see  Thee  and  be  blest. 
But  am  I  pure  ?     I  know  not ;  but  I  know 
It  is  Thy  will,  my  God,  to  make  me  so, 
And  in  that  knowledge  I  can  safely  rest ; 
And  I  rejoice  to  think  that  in  my  breast 
There's  not  a  thought  or  wish  but  long  ago 
Was  known,  my  Saviour  and  my  Judge  !  to  Thee, 
Before  Thy  hand  in  secret  fashioned  me. 


Therefore,  I  pray  Thee,  search  and  try  my  heart, 
And  lead  me  in  the  everlasting  way, 
And  free  me  from  my  sin  against  the  day 
When  I  shall  see  Thee,  Saviour !  as  Thou  art. 

*  Joseph  John  Murphy. 


C6e 


LXXV. 


TfTTJITHIN  His  House  the  God  of  Love 
***"l     Hath  many  rooms  to  show  ; 
Some  mansions  are  prepared  above, 
And  some  below. 


The  Saints  below  have  not  to  wait, 
Their  Heaven  begins  on  earth ; 
Tis  entered  by  the  Portal-Gate 
Of  Second-Birth. 


And  in  that  House  there  dwelleth  One 

To  Whom  all  power  is  given ; 
The  Father's  well  beloved  Son — 
He  rules  in  Heaven. 


184  Sacred  Poems. 

Each  room  and  door  and  key  He  knows, 

The  House  is  all  His  own. 
'Tis  His  to  open,  His  to  close — 
Yea,  His  alone  ! 


Lo  !  at  the  Mercy-Gate  He  stands — 

The  Very  Christ  who  died ; 
Behold  His  brow,  His  pierced  hands, 
His  wounded  side  ! 


"  Come  to  the  Father's  House,"  He  cries- 

"  Confess  to  Him  thy  sin  ; 
The  Door  of  Pardon  open  lies,— 
Come,  enter  in  ! 


"  The  far-off  country  leave  behind 

Where  thou  hast  dared  to  roam  ; 
Oh,  come  within,  and  thou  shalt  find 
At  last  thy  Home." 


Oh  happy  they  whom  Jesus  calls, 

And  who  His  call  obey, — 
They  come  within  the  Heavenly  walls, 
Thrice  happy  day  ! 


And  each  unto  his  room  is  led 
By  Him  who  holds  the  Key ; 
"Come  in,"  He  saith,  "for  thee  I  bled- 
Work  thou  for  Me. 


"  Behold  the  door  is  open  wide  ! 

The  day  is  not  yet  gone — 
Make  haste — the  workless  eventide. 
Is  stealing  on." 


Sacred  Poems.  185 


Oh  happy  they  whom  Jesus  tells 

To  work  for  Him  and  pray, 
With  them  His  presence  ever  dwells 
Through  life's  long  day  ! 


And  when  the  day  of  work  is  o'er, 

Then  unto  each  He  saith — 
"  Come,  I  must  bring  thee  to  the  door 
That  men  call  Death. 


"  'Tis  time  the  room  of  toil  to  leave, 

And  seek  that  place  of  rest, 
Where  waits  the  Father  to  receive 
His  weary  guest. 


"It  is  no  place  of  outer  gloom, 

Within  the  Home  it  lies ; 
'Tis  but  the  further,  better  room 
Of  Paradise. 


"  And  I— the  Holy  One  and  True— 

Who  liveth,  and  was  dead — 
I  have  the  Keys,  I  have  been  through, 
What  dost  thou  dread  ? 


"  When  I  did  rest  from  work  and  care, 

There  did  my  spirit  flee ; 
The  contrite  thief  was  welcomed  there 
That  day  by  Me. 


"  And  all  the  saints  who  faithful  die, 

There  safe  with  me  abide. 
Why  dost  thou  fear  to  go,  when  I 
Am  by  thy  side  ?" 


1 86  Sacred  Poems. 

Oh  happy  they  whom  Christ  is  near. 
When  at  deaths  door  they  stand  : 
The  room  beyond  they  need  not  fear 
Who  hold  His  hand  ! 


And  when  on  Resurrection-day 

The  ransom'd  meet  at  last ; 
Death  feared  no  more,  tears  wiped  away, 
And  judgment  past. 

Then  shall  be  heard  once  more  His  call- 

"  Come,  blessed  children,  see 
The  best  of  rooms  reserved  for  all 
Who  follow  Me  ! 


"  No  pardon  there  shall  ye  require, 

For  ye  no  more  shall  sin  ; 
And  though  ye  work  ye  shall  not  tire- 
Come,  enter  in  ! 


"  Behold  the  door  is  open — Come  ! 

Soon  must  I  close  the  gate  ; 
Come  ere  the  feast  begin,  for  some 
Will  knock  too  late." 


Oh  happy  they  who  find  a  place — 

While  open  lies  the  door — 
With  those  who  see  the  Master's  face 
For  evermore  ! 


O  great  Key-bearer,  grant  that  we, 

Within  Thy  home  above, 
May  praise  through  ait  eternity 

Thy  wondrous  love  !     Amen. 

*  Lord  Plunket,  Bishop  of  Meath. 


Sacred  Poems.  187 


Sent  tottl)  an  8utoerapi)  of  223orti0toorti)* 
LXXVI. 

WO  lines  —  bright  issues  of  undying  mind, 

Two  deep-souled  lines  to  thee  and  Nature  dear,* 
A  name  immortal  by  the  Immortal  signed, 
Traced  by  his  own  enchanted  pen  —  are  here  \ 


Hung  o'er  the  page  that  brow  magnificent, 
Shrine  for  its  mighty  inmate  fitly  wrought  I 

O'er  it  those  visionary  eyes  were  bent, 

That  gaze,  slow-wandering  through  the  deep  of  Thought. 


Mightiest  of  all  the  laurelled  lineage  high, 
He  sate,  as  when  in  Fancy's  golden  gleam, 

He  saw  deep  visions  by  the  "  sylvan  Wye,"t 
Or  drew  his  childhood's  bright  Platonic  dream.  j 


A  vesper  light  was  there — a  light  to  lend 
To  Age  a  genial  tint,  a  kindred  ray ; 

And  Nature  harmonized  the  hour,  to  blend 
Her  glories  with  the  sunset  of  his  day  I 


The  brighter  noontide  hours  in  converse  grave 

And  high,  had  passed  with  him,  our  glorious  guest ; 

Winander  fondling  still  with  playful  wave 
The  faery  barque  that  rocked  her  poet's  rest.§ 


:  *'  To  me  the  meanest  flower,"  &c. 
t  The  poem  written  near  Tintern  Abbey. 
£  The  Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality. 
§  We  had  been  sailing  on  Windermere  part  of  the  day,  July  26,  1844. 


1 88  Sacred  Poems. 

He  taught  how  men  may  rise  to  soul  through  sense 
Of  that  diviner  vision,  which  can  see 

Symbols  in  narrow  space  of  God's  immense, 
Shadows  in  time  of  God's  eternity  : 


Of  man — the  sorrows  humble  souls  endure, 

The  one  great  Heart  that  beats  in  all  who  move 

O'er  earth,  the  peaceful  glories  of  the  poor, 
And  all  the  meek  sublime  of  human  love. 


He  taught  of  mysteries  hid  in  fields  and  flowers, 
Of  marvels  that  in  Nature's  lone  haunts  dwell ; 

He  spoke  as  Thou,  whose  not  unhappiest  hours 
Have  learned  his  lore,  can  thence  far  better  tell. 


But  Thou,  whose  spirit  serene  of  maiden  youth, 
So  brightly  calm,  so  beautifully  wise, 

Loving  all  loveliness,  yet  sees  in  truth 
A  glory  richer  than  all  fancy's  dyes  : 


Thou,  when  the  glistening  eye  and  beating  heart, 

Attest  for  thine  the  true  poetic  thrill, 
And  speak  the  Mighty  Master's  matchless  art — 

Wilt  breathe  a  want,  wilt  yearn  for  something  still  ! 


New-born  to  Him  who  bore  the  cross's  shame, 
No  joy  is  joyous,  be  but  He  forgot ; 

We  dare  not  rest  beneath  a  lower  name, 

Or  own  aught  perfect  where  the  Cross  is  not. 


Our  wisdom's  but  to  know  His  wisdom's  worth, 
To  feel  all  light  beside  His  lustre  dim  ; 

Cold  to  all  beauty  save  what  shadows  forth 
The  one  sole  central  Beauty,  shrined  in  Him  ! 


Sacred  Poems.  189 


To  win  an  hour  from  sense,  by  finer  touch 
Of  sympathy  to  wake  the  better  mind, 

This  is  not  nothing,  but  it  is  not  much — 
Alas  !  the  world  is  world,  howe'er  refined. 


No — the  stern  lessons,  self-hate,  self-control, 
The  dark  of  Nature  in  its  Lord  made  bright — 

These  can  alone  unbind  the  pinioned  soul, 

And  flood  the  enfranchised  heart  with  love  and  light. 

Creation's  mightiest  marvels  twinkle  weak 

Beside  that  solar  glory — Sin  forgiven  ; 
Mount — Alp  on  Alp — the  topmost  glittering  peak, 

But  clearer  shows  the  infinite  height  of  Heaven  ! 

W.  Archer  Butler. 


LXXVII. 

WORLD  !  thou  hoary  monster,  whose  old  age 
Is  gray  in  guilt !     How  purer  and  more  fair 
The  freshness  of  thine  infancy  to  share  ! 
The  primal  records  of  the  holy  page 
Tell  how,  amid  thy  morn,  the  Form  of  God 
Lighted  the  valleys  of  our  vernal  earth — 
A  parent,  with  the  children  of  His  birth — 
And  smiled  to  dark  the  sunshine,  as  He  trod  ! 
Tending  their  flocks  among  the  quiet  hills 

And  shadowed  waters  of  their  orient  clime, 
The  men  of  majesty,  in  early  time, 
Bore  heaven  upon  their  brow  1     Alas  !  it  chills 
The  soul,  to  mark  the  God-given  spirit's  course, 
Beam  of  the  Eternal  Sun,  dissevered  from  its  source  ! 


190  Sacred  Poems. 

Mature  ant)  tf?e  Cpuman 
LXXVIII. 

How  vast  the  little  infinite,*  where  march 

The  last  far  heavens  in  all-surrounding  round, 
Where  on  and  on,  beyond  the  lowly  arch 

Of  inner  worlds,  God's  mighty  work  is  crown'd. 
For,  still  untired,  creative  energy 

Scattering  new  life,  where  only  thought  can  soar, 
Planting  his  standards  through  immensity, 

Builds  temples  still,  and  beings  to  adore  : 
Yet  is  one  MIND — the  pauper-peasant's  mind — 

Reason's  invisible  chamber — more  sublime 
Than  all  that  scene  material,  whose  array 

Throngs  endless  space  ;  more  vast  and  unconfined 
Than  aught  (save  endless  Space  itself  and  Time, 

Nature's  twin  lords)  one  soul  that  stoops  to  live 
one  day  ! 

W.  Archer  Butler. 


£Dn  a  CfrilD  in  t&e  College 

LXXIX. 

|N  yester-eve  I  saw  at  play 

A  child — 'twas  Fancy's  precious  prize — 
The  lovely  light  of  gladness  lay 

Couched  softly  in  his  gleaming  eyes. 
Come  gaze  on  me,  my  pretty  child, 
And  smile  again  as  thou  hast  smiled  : 
Such  happiness  alive  in  thee 
Makes  me  a  child  again  to  see  ! 

What  dost  thou  in  our  "  learned  bowers  "  ? 

Heads  may  be  wise  where  hearts  are  breaking 
And  happier  science  thine  than  ours, 

For  thou  hast  found  what  we  are  seeking  ! 

*  Finitus  et  infinite  similis. 


Sacred  Poems.  191 

Ah,  would  our  midnight  lamp  could  bless 
Us  with  thine  art  of  happiness  ! 
Ah,  would  its  care  and  toil  of  thought 
Could  teach  what  thou  hast  learned  untaught  ! 

Alone  among  the  flowers  he  lies, 

As  fair  as  they,  as  coyly  wild  — 
"  To  droop  above  thy  vernal  eyes 

I'll  set  them  in  thy  bonnet,  child  !  " 
A  painful  throb  is  in  my  heart, 
I  will  not  bid  it  to  depart  ; 
I  never  knew  what  'twas  to  grieve 
With  pleasure,  till  I  saw  this  eve. 

The  primrose  flower  of  life  is  here, 

The  rapturous  promise  of  its  spring  ; 
Time  touches  it  with  gentle  fear 

To  harshly  touch  so  soft  a  thing. 
So  bright  a  flower  was  never  set 
In  Flora's  fading  coronet  ; 
"  Alas  !  must  thou,  too,  fade,  my  child  ?  "- 
The  boy  looked  up  at  me  and  smiled. 

Sweet  spirit  newly  come  from  heaven, 

With  all  the  God  upon  thee  still, 
Beams  of  no  earthly  light  are  given 

Thy  heart  even  yet  to  bless  and  fill. 
Thy  soul,  a  sky  whose  sun  has  set, 
Wears  glory  hovering  round  it  yet  ; 
And  childhood's  eve  glows  sadly  bright 
Ere  life  hath  deepened  into  night  I 

€>omtet, 
Which  may  illustrate  the  last  Stanza  of  the  preceding  Poem. 


,  whose  meek  eyes  are  bending  o'er  my  page  ! 
Hast  thou  not  sometimes  felt  a  thrilling  sense 
As  if  our  life  were  but  a  second  stage 
Of  elder  being  ?     Dreams  —  dim  dreams  from  thence 


192  Sacred  Poems. 

Rise  often  on  our  thoughts,  like  thoughts  of  home 

Crushing  the  spirit  of  the  wanderer  lost 

In  the  drear  desert.     Oh,  for  a  glimpse  to  come 

Across  the  soul,  of  that  most  blessed  coast 

Whose  banks  we  left  to  sail  the  stormy  ocean 

That  wrecked  us  upon  earth  !     Oft — oft  it  seems 

In  our  bright  hours,  the  angel  thoughts  whose  motion 

Darts  meteor-like  athwart  the  brain,  are  gleams 

From  our  lost  heaven  !     Sons  of  Eternity, 

Though  here  the  wards  of  fleeting  Time,  are  we. 

W.  Archer  Butltr. 


t&e  GJnfcnoton 

LXXX. 

STOOD  beside  the  margin  of  a  sea, 

If  sea  it  were,  where  neither  wind  nor  wave 
Its  surface  stirred,  all  leaden-like  and  still, 
As  molten  cloud  whereon  no  gleam  was  shed 
From  light  of  sun  or  moon  or  distant  star. 

Silence  reigned  sovereign  o'er  the  vast  abyss 
Outstretched  as  far  as  eye  or  thought  could  reach, 
Whose  depth  in  vain  might  sounding-line  explore 
Unknown  and  fathomless.     No  night  and  day 
Alternate  came,  where  all  was  void  and  dark  ; 
Save  that,  scarce  visible,  distant  and  dim, 
A  quivering  ray,  as  from  some  outer  sphere, 
Gleamed  vision-like  above  the  drear  expanse. 

Here,  as  I  stood  and  gazed,  methought  a  sound, 
Like  echo  wafted  from  a  distant  world, 
Fell  on  my  ear  with  strange  entrancing  power. 
No  spoken  word,  no  utterance  it  was 
Such  as  on  earth  reaches  the  listener ; 
Yet  to  the  very  inmost  soul  it  spake 
With  meaning  most  intense,  as  in  that  realm 
Where  spirits  disembodied  converse  hold. 


Sacred  Poems.  193 

I  turned,  and  by  my  side  there  seemed  to  stand 
A  form  like  those  which  pass  at  eventide 
Cloud-wrought,  dark  marshalled,  moving  overhead, 
Like  travellers  gliding  on  their  darksome  way, 
Along  the  pathway  of  the  western  sky. 
Was  this,  then,  Dreamland?  all  thus  seen  and  heard? 
Was  it  a  vision  of  the  night  ?     I  knew  not ; 
But  words  unutterable  seemed  to  reach 
Both  heart  and  ear,  while  he  who  spake  stood  nigh, 
Shrouded  in  veil  of  gloom  and  mystery. 

A  plaint  I  heard,  a  plaint  which  wailing  told 
Of  a  life  spent  in  hot  though  vain  pursuit 
Of  happiness,  of  glory,  wisdom,  all 
That  earth  calls  gain.     And  sadly,  too,  it  told 
Of  broken  vows,  vain  warnings,  idols  throned 
Where  ONE  alone  should  reign.     Such  the  lament, 
And  evermore  a  voice  appeared  to  utter 
"Too  late  !" 

And  then,  methought  I  overheard 
What  seemed  a  prayer,  low  uttered,  earnest,  faint, 
As  from  a  heart  deep-rent  with  doubt  and  dread, 
For  mercy,  pity — for  one  guiding  ray 
Amidst  the  "  darkness  visible,"  to  light 
The  strange  wayfarer  by  that  unknown  deep  ! 

Awful  it  is  to  hear  the  thunder-peal 
Roll  amid  Alpine  heights  from  cliff  to  cliff, 
From  chasm  to  chasm,  lit  by  the  vivid  gleam 
Of  lightning  flash.     But  yet  more  awful  still, 
To  stand  entombed  in  depth  of  night  like  this, 
And  hear  the  spirit-wail  that  then  I  heard. 

That  prayer  seemed  but  to  reach  the  laden  air 
Which  brooded  o'er  the  abyss.     Could  human  heart 
Hear,  and  not  inly  pray  it  might  be  heard 
By  Him,  whose  arm  omnipotent  can  reach, 
Whose  ever-open  ear  can  hearken  to 
The  sufferer  whelmed  in  sorrow's  wildest  wave, 
The  sigh  sent  forth  from  deepest  depth  of  woe  ? 

Silent  a  prayer  I  breathed,  then  bent  my  view 
Across  the  void,  and  lo  !  beheld  a  form 
Dim  in  the  distance  where  at  first  appeared 

N 


194  Sacred  Poems. 

That  struggling  gleam.     It  shone  as  shines  the  light 
Which  in  far  Polar  regions  cheers  the  eye 
Of  ice-bound  mariner,  when  sun  and  moon 
Are  buried  'neath  the  horizon.     Thus  it  seemed, 
But  whether  distant  cloud,  or  spirit  clothed 
With  cloud-like  garb,  I  knew  not.     Still  methought 
It  grew  in  shadowy  radiance  and  drew  near, 
While  o'er  the  surface  of  the  misty  deep 
A  brightness  dawned,  such  as  at  morning-tide 
Gladdens  the  eye  of  watcher  through  the  night. 
In  fashion  as  a  man  that  form  next  showed, 
But  man  so  glorious  that  the  countenance 
Beamed  with  the  cloudless  light  of  Deity. 
'  A  crown  the  brow  adorned,  so  passing  bright, 
That  shrouded  seemed  each  feature.     Where  a  hand 
Was  raised,  as  though  to  bless,  athwart  the  sky, 
Like  glowing  meteor,  more  than  diamond  bright, 
A  shape  appeared  like  that  which  legends  say 
Shone  o'er  the  Caesar's  path  as  forth  he  went 
To  war,  and  bade  him  triumph  in  the  Cross. 
Thus  o'er  the  void  appeared  that  form  divine ; 
While  in  each  outspread  palm  glistened  a  wound 
Deep  sunken,  and  of  ruby  hue.     The  feet 
Of  Him  who  o'er  the  trackless  waste  drew  nigh, 
Seemed  also  pierced  with  wounds,  and  underneath 
A  billowy  path  of  surging  cloud  was  rolled, 
Purple  and  golden,  such  as  marks  the  way 
Of  autumn-sun  low  sinking  in  the  west. 

As  upward  turned  my  gaze,  a  gentle  wind, 
Such  as  at  spring-tide  breathes  o'er  opening  flowers, 
Stole  o'er  my  brow;  and,  kneeling  by  the  marge 
Of  that  still  sea,  late  dark,  but  lightened  now 
With  heaven's  own  rays,  I  saw  a  figure  bent 
Low  at  the  feet  of  Him  whose  presence  shed 
Joy's  radiance  round.     Hidden  the  shrouded  face 
Within  close-folded  hands,  while  scarcely  breathed 
I  heard—"  Oh,  Christ  !  thou  art  the  Son  of  God  !  " 

*  Canon  Maellwaine. 


§andi 

Hymn  of  the  Ancient  Irish  Church,  from  the  Anti- 
phonarium  Benchorense,  preserved  in  the  Ambrosian 
Library,  Milan. 

LXXXI. 

RAW  nigh,  ye  holy  ones,  draw  nigh, 
And  take  the  body  of  the  Lord  ; 
And  drink  the  sacred  blood  outpoured, 

By  which,  redeemed,  ye  shall  not  die. 


O  saved  from  justice  and  the  rod 
By  this  divinest  flesh  and  blood, 
By  these  made  strong,  in  grateful  mood 

Give  thanks  and  praises  unto  God. 


By  this  (Oh  !  blessed  news  to  tell  !) 
This  sacrament  of  flesh  and  blood, 
Have  all  been  rescued  from  the  flood- 

The  flood  of  death  —  the  jaws  of  hell. 


The  giver  of  salvation,  HE, 

The  Christ,  the  Son  of  God  above, 
Restored  unto  his  Father's  love 

The  world,  by  blood  and  by  the  tree. 

N  2 


196  Hymns. 

From  north  to  south,  from  west  to  east, 
For  all,  the  sacrifice  is  given — 
For  all  is  slain  the  Lord  of  Heaven 

Himself  the  Offering  and  the  Priest. 

Read  well  the  story  through  and  through 
Of  victims  bleeding  at  the  shrine, 
Types  of  a  mystery  more  divine, 

And  shadows  of  a  truth  more  true. 


The  liberal  Giver  of  all  light, 

The  Saviour  of  the  human  race, 

A  special  glory  and  a  grace 
Doth  give  His  saints  who  fear  His  might. 

Approach  ye  all  with  fond  and  pure 

Believing  hearts,  and  for  His  sake 

The  gage  of  your  salvation  take, 
Your  souls  physician,  and  its  cure. 

The  guardian  of  the  saints,  the  Lord, 

By  whom  ye  move,  and  breathe,  and  live, 
Eternal  life  doth  largely  give 

To  those  believing  in  His  word. 

The  bread  of  heaven  He  doth  bestow 

On  hungry  souls  about  to  sink ; 

The  thirsty  He  permits  to  drink 
From  out  a  living  fountain's  flow. 

The  source  and  stream — the  first  and.  last — 
Even  Christ,  the  Lord  who  died  for  men, 
Now  comes ;  but  He  will  come  again 

To  judge  the  world  when  time  hath  passed. 

*  Denis  Florence  MacCarthy. 


Hymns.  197 

iU,  (Mi,  ptbtat  JUtto. 

Hymn  of  the  Fifteenth  Century. 
LXXXII. 

EAVEN,  ring  with  rapture, 

Laugh,  lightest  ether, 
Earth,  be  thou  joyful, 
Summit  and  centre ; 
Storm  winds  are  silent, 
Black  clouds  have  vanished, 
By  the  boughs  shaken, 
Young  buds  awaken. 

Spring  from  your  slumber, 
Flowers  without  number  ; 
Seeds,  rise  and  cover 
All  the  fields  over ; 
Paint  them  with  pansies, 
Mingle  with  roses, 
Lily,  carnation, 
In  sweet  alternation. 

Lute,  loudly  thrilling, 
Prove  thou  art  willing ; 
Song,  with  thy  metre, 
Ever  sing  sweeter  : 
Christ  has  arisen 
Up  from  his  prison, 
Death's  spell  is  broken, 
As  He  hath  spoken. 

Praise  Him,  ye  mountains, 
Warble,  ye  fountains, 
Hills,  give  Him  greeting, 
Valleys,  repeating : 
Christ  has  arisen 
Up  from  His  prison, 
Death's  spell  is  broken, 
As  He  hath  spoken. 

*  Denis  Florence  MacCarthy. 


198  Hymns. 

lent,  §anxte  §piriim 

BY  KING  ROBERT  OF  FRANCE,  A.D.  1031. 
LXXXIII. 


,  Holy  Ghost,  and  from  on  high, 
"     Through  our  sin-o'ershadow'd  sky, 
Rays  of  Thy  pure  radiance  dart  ; 

Come,  Thou  Father  of  the  poor, 
Come  with  gifts  that  cleanse  and  cure  ; 
Come,  Thou  Light  of  every  heart. 

Best  consoler,  sweetest  guest, 
That  the  soul  hath  e'er  possessed  ; 
Fountain  of  all  pure  delight. 

In  our  toils  refreshment  sweet, 
Coolness  in  the  summer's  heat, 
Solace  in  our  tearful  plight  ; 

O  Thou  blessed  Light  divine  ! 
Fill  the  inner  hearts  of  Thine, 
Overflow  each  faithful  soul. 

Ah  !  without  Thy  saving  light, 
Nothing  is  in  man  aright, 
Nothing  free  from  sin's  control. 

Wash  what  in  us  is  unclean  ; 
Water,  and  our  dry  make  green  ; 
Heal  the  wounds  that  none  behold  ; 

Bend  our  stiffness  to  Thy  way, 
Guide  what  in  us  is  astray, 
Warm  what  in  us  is  too  cold. 


Hymns.  199 


Ah  !  unworthy  though  we  be, 
Upon  those  who  trust  in  Thee 
Let  Thy  sevenfold  gifts  alight ; 

Give  us  Virtue's  sweet  reward, 
Give  a  happy  death,  O  Lord  ! 
Give  us  Thy  eternal  Light. 


Denis  Florence  MacCarthy. 


§>ta&at  abater  Dolorosa, 


LXXXIV. 

the  mournful  Mother  weeping, 
By  the  Cross  her  vigil  keeping, 
While  her  Jesus  hung  thereon  : 
Through  her  heart,  in  sorrow  moaning, 
With  Him  grieving,  for  Him  groaning, 
Through  that  heart  the  sword  hath  gone. 

Oh  how  sad  and  sore  distressed 
Was  she — the  for-ever  blessed 

Mother  of  the  UndefiTd  ! 
She  who  wept,  and  mourned,  and  trembled, 
When  she  saw  such  pains  assembled 

Round  about  the  Holy  Child. 

Who  that  sees  Christ's  Mother  bending 
'Neath  His  load  of  sorrow,  rending 

Her  sad  soul  in  woe  so  deep  ; 
Who  that  sees  that  Pious  Mother 
With  Him  weeping,  could  do  other 

Than,  himself  afflicted,  weep  ? 


200  Hymns. 

For  the  sins  of  each  offender, 
Sinless  Soul,  and  Body  tender, 

Sees  she  'neath  the  cruel  rod  : 
See  her  own  sweet  Son,  her  only, 
Dying,  desolate,  and  lonely, 

Pouring  out  His  Soul  to  God. 

Jesu  !  Fount  of  Love  !  Thee  loving, 
And  my  soul  Thy  sorrow  moving, 

Make  me  watch  and  weep  with  Thee  : 
As  my  God  and  Christ  Thee  knowing, 
Let  my  loving  heart  be  glowing 

With  a  Holy  Sympathy. 

Holy  Father  !  let  affliction 
For  Thy  dear  Son's  crucifixion 

Pierce  my  heart :  and  grant  this  prayer, 
That  while  He  for  me  was  wounded, 
With  indignities  surrounded, 

I  His  cup  of  grief  may  share. 

Make  me  truly  weep,  and  never 
From  the  Crucified  me  sever, 

Long  as  I  on  earth  remain  : 
By  the  Cross  of  Jesus  keeping 
With  His  Mother  watch  of  weeping, 

Sharing  with  her  pain  for  pain. 

God  of  Saints  !  Thou  King  most  holy  ! 
Comforter  of  spirits  lowly  ! 

Fill  me  with  my  Saviour's  grief; 
That,  His  death  devoutly  bearing, 
And  His  bitter  passion  sharing, 

I  may  bring  Him  some  relief. 

Make  me  with  His  stripes  be  stricken, 
With  the  Cross  my  spirit  quicken, 
For  the  love  of  Christ,  I  pray  : 


Hymns.  201 

That  with  love  inflamed,  attended, 
I  by  love  may  be  defended 
In  the  awful  Judgment  Day. 

By  the  Cross  for  ever  guarded, 

And,  through  Christ's  dear  dying,  warded 

By  the  Grace  that  never  dies ; 
When  my  mortal  body,  dying, 
In  the  quiet  grave  is  lying, 

Take  my  soul  to  Paradise ; 

To  adore 
Thee,  my  God  !  for  evermore. 

Amen. 

Rev.  J.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


H3oli,  Pater,  3|ntwlgere  Conitrui  cum 


S.    COLUMBA. 
LXXXV. 

BATHER,  keep  under 

J'      The  tempest  and  thunder, 

Lest  we  should  be  shattered 

By  Thy  lightning's  shafts  scattered. 

Thy  terrors  while  fearing, 

We  listen  still  hearing 

The  resonant  song 

Of  the  bright  angel  throng, 

As  they  wander  and  praise  Thee, 

Shouts  of  honour  still  raise  Thee. 

To  the  King  ruling  right, 

Jesu,  lover  and  light, 


2O2  Hymns. 

As  with  wine  and  clear  mead, 

Filled  with  God's  grace  indeed, 

Precursor  John  Baptist's  word, 

Told  of  the  coming  Lord, 

Whom,  blessed  for  evermore, 

All  men  should  bow  before. 

Zacharias,  Elizabeth, 

This  Saint  begot. 

May  the  fire  of  thy  love  live  in  my  heart  yet, 

As  jewel  of  gold  in  a  silver  vase  set ! 

*  Mary  F.   Cusack. 


3[n  te  C&riste, 

S.    COLUMBA. 
LXXXVI. 

4fT  HOU  who  all  men  dost  relieve, 
^     Christ  in  Thee  I  do  believe, 
Come  unto  my  aid,  O  Lord, 
While  I  labour  for  Thy  word  ; 


Hasten  to  my  help,  I  pray, 

Bear  my  burden  every  day. 

Of  all  mankind  the  maker  Thou, 

Before  Thy  throne  our  Judge  we  bow. 


O  Lord  of  lords  and  King  of  kings  ! 
To  Thee  all  nature  homage  brings. 
The  angels  all  alone  in  state, 
In  the  celestial  city  wait. 


Hymns  203 

O  God  of  gods,  eternal  Light, 

O  Lord  most  high,  most  sweet,  most  bright ; 

O  God  of  patience,  past  all  thought ; 

O  God,  Thou  teacher  of  the  taught ; 

O  God,  who  hast  made  all  that  was, 
Of  past  and  present  Thou  the  cause. 
O  Father,  for  Thy  Son's  dear  sake, 
Prepare  the  way  that  I  shall  take, 

And  let  Thy  Holy  Spirit  guide 

My  soul  through  all  my  wandering  wide. 

Christ,  lover  of  the  virgin  choir, 
Christ,  man's  Redeemer  from  hell-fire, 
Christ,  fount  of  wisdom,  pure  and  clear, 
Christ,  in  whose  word  we  hope  and  fear, 

Christ,  breastplate  in  the  hour  of  fight, 
Christ,  who  has  made  the  world  and  light. 

Christ,  of  the  dead  the  living  life, 
Christ,  of  the  living,  strength  in  strife. 
Christ,  crowner  of  each  conquering  soul, 
Who  count'st  it  in  the  martyrs'  roll. 

Christ,  Saviour  of  the  world  so  wide, 
Christ  on  the  cross  at  Passion-tide, 
Christ  into  depths  of  hell  descends, 
Christ  into  heaven  above  ascends. 

Be  glory  to  the  Father  given, 
Exalted  in  the  highest  heaven, 
All  honour  to  the  Only  Son, 
With  God  the  Father  ever  One, 
And  to  the  Spirit  Holiest,  blest, 
Be  equal  power  and  praise  addrest : 
So  be  it  until  time  is  past, 
And  while  Eternity  shall  last. 

*  Mary  F.   Cusack. 


204  Jfymns. 

Cf)e  Cfmstian 


LXXXVII. 

backward  on  my  actions  past 
I  turn  my  mournful  eyes, 
The  black  review  from  first  to  last, 
With  guilt  all  crowded  lies. 

When  on  the  time  to  come  I  pore, 

The  lowering  prospect  shows 
A  dreadful  sea  without  a  shore, 

A  sea  of  fears  and  woes. 

Behold,  even  now  the  storm  begins, 

The  swelling  billows  rise, 
And  gathering  fury  from  my  sins, 

And  from  the  angry  skies, 

Thro'  terrors  not  to  be  expressed, 

My  troubled  soul  they  drive, 
Of  hope,  of  comfort,  and  of  rest, 

My  anxious  heart  deprive. 

Oppressed  by  fear,  by  hope  betrayed, 

'Tis  vain  to  stand  or  fly  : 
For  life  unfit,  of  death  afraid, 

I  must  not,  dare  not,  die. 

From  God's  all-seeing  eyes  to  hide, 

Or  screen  me  from  his  view, 
'Tis  vain  in  darkness  to  confide, 

He  looks  my  conscience  through. 

There,  blessed  Saviour,  take  me  in, 

There  safely  let  me  lie, 
Till  thou  hast  purged  my  soul  from  sin, 

And  vengeance  passes  by. 

Rev.  Philip  Skelton. 


Hymns.  205 

to 


LXXXVIII. 

God,  ye  choir  above,  begin 
A  hymn  so  loud  and  strong, 
That  all  the  universe  may  hear, 
And  join  the  grateful  song. 

Praise  Him,  thou  sun,  who  dwells  unseen 

Amidst  transcendent  light, 
Where  thy  refulgent  orb  would  seem 

A  spot,  as  dark  as  night. 

Thou  silver  moon,  ye  host  of  stars, 

The  universal  song, 
Thro'  the  serene  and  silent  night, 

To  list'ning  worlds  prolong. 

Sing  Him,  ye  distant  worlds  and  suns, 
From  whence  no  travelling  ray 

Hath  yet  to  us,  thro'  ages  past, 
Had  time  to  make  its  way. 

Assist,  ye  raging  storms,  and  bear 

On  rapid  wings  His  praise, 
From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west, 

Thro'  heaven,  and  earth,  and  seas. 

Exert  your  voice  ye  furious  fires 

That  rend  the  wat'ry  cloud  ; 
And  thunder  to  this  nether  world, 

Your  Maker's  word  aloud. 

Ye  works  of  God,  that  dwell  unknown 

Beneath  the  rolling  main  ; 
Ye  birds,  that  sing  among  the  groves, 

And  sweep  the  azure  plain  ; 


206  Hymns. 

Ye  stately  hills,  that  rear  your  heads, 
And,  tow'ring,  pierce  the  sky  ; 

Ye  clouds,  that  with  an  awful  pace, 
Majestic  roll  on  high ; 

Ye  insects  small,  to  which  one  leaf 

Within  its  narrow  sides, 
A  vast  extended  world  displays, 

And  spacious  realms  provides ; 

Ye  race,  still  less  than  these,  with  which 
The  stagnant  water  teems, 

To  which  one  drop,  however  small, 
A  boundless  ocean  seems. 


Whate'er  you  are,  where'er  you  dwell, 

Ye  creatures  great  or  small, 
Adore  the  wisdom,  praise  the  power, 

That  made  and  keeps  you  all. 

And  if  you  want  or  sense  or  sounds 

To  swell  the  grateful  noise, 
Prompt  mankind  with  that  sense,  and  they 

Shall  find  for  you  a  voice. 


From  all  the  realms  of  boundless  space 
Let  loud  Hosannahs  sound  ; 

Loud  send,  ye  wond'rous  works  of  God, 
The  joyful  concert  round. 


Rev.  Philip  Skelton. 


Hymns.  207 


Jt)gmn  for 

LXXXIX. 

AEE,  the  star  that  leads  the  day, 
^^     Rising,  shoots  a  golden  ray, 
To  make  the  shades  of  darkness  go 
From  heaven  above  and  earth  below  j 
And  warn  us  early  with  the  sight, 
To  leave  the  beds  of  silent  night ; 
From  a  heart  sincere  and  sound, 
From  its  very  deepest  ground, 
Send  devotion  up  on  high, 
Winged  with  heat  to  reach  the  sky. 
See,  the  time  for  sleep  has  run, 
Rise  before,  or  with  the  sun ; 
Lift  the  hands,  and  humbly  pray, 
The  fountain  of  eternal  day ; 
That,  as  the  light  serenely  fair, 
Illustrates  all  the  tracts  of  air, 
The  sacred  spirit  so  may  rest, 
With  quickening  beams,  upon  thy  breast 
And  kindly  clean  it  all  within 
From  darker  blemishes  of  sin  ; 
And  shine  with  grace  until  we  view 
The  realm  it  gilds  with  glory  too. 
See,  the  day  that  dawns  in  air 
Brings  along  its  toil  and  care ; 
From  the  lap  of  night  it  springs, 
With  heaps  of  business  on  its  wings ; 
Prepare  to  meet  them  in  a  mind 
That  bows  submissively  resigned ; 
That  would  to  works  appointed  fall, 
That  knows  that  God  has  ordered  all. 
And  whether,  with  a  small  repast, 
We  break  the  sober  morning  fast ; 
Or  in  our  thoughts  and  houses  lay 
The  future  methods  of  the  day  ; 
Or  early  walk  abroad  to  meet 


2o8  Hymns. 

Our  business,  with  industrious  feet ; 
Whate'er  we  think,  whate'er  we  do, 
His  glory  still  be  kept  in  view. 
O  giver  of  eternal  bliss, 
Heavenly  Father,  grant  me  this  ; 
Grant  it  all,  as  well  as  me, 
All  whose  hearts  are  fixed  on  thee  ; 
Who  revere  Thy  Son  above, 
Who  Thy  sacred  Spirit  love. 

Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 


for 

xc. 


beam-repelling  mists  arise, 
And  evening  spreads  obscurer  skies  ; 
And  twilight  will  the  night  forerun, 
And  night  itself  be  soon  begun. 
Upon  thy  knees  devoutly  vow, 
And  pray  the  Lord  of  Glory  now 
To  fill  thy  breast,  or  deadly  sin 
May  cause  a  blinder  night  within. 
And  whether  pleasing  vapours  rise, 
Which  gently  dim  the  closing  eyes, 
Which  make  the  weary  members  blest 
With  sweet  refreshment  in  their  rest  ; 
Or  whether  spirits  in  the  brain 
Dispel  their  soft  embrace  again  ; 
And  on  my  watchful  bed  I  stay, 
Forsook  by  sleep,  and  waiting  day  ; 
Be  God  for  ever  in  my  view, 
And  never  He  forsake  me,  too  ; 
But  still  as  day  concludes  in  night, 
To  break  again  with  new-born  light  ; 
His  wondrous  bounty  let  me  find, 
With  still  a  more  enlighten'd  mind  ; 


Hymns.  209 

When  grace  and  love  in  one  agree — 
Grace  from  God,  and  love  from  me ; 
Grace  that  will  from  heaven  inspire, 
Love  that  seals  it  in  desire ; 
Grace  and  love  that  mingle  beams, 
And  fill  me  with  increasing  flames. 
Thou  that  hast  Thy  palace  far 
Above  the  moon  and  every  star, 
Thou  that  sittest  on  a  throne 
To  which  the  night  was  never  known, 
Regard  my  voice  and  make  me  blest, 
By  kindly  granting  its  request. 
If  thoughts  on  Thee  my  soul  employ, 
My  darkness  will  afford  me  joy 
Till  Thou  shalt  call,  and  I  shall  soar 
And  part  with  darkness  evermore. 

Thomas  Parnell,  D.D. 


in  §>orroto, 

XCI. 


kind  compassion  hear  me  cry, 
O  Jesu,  Lord  of  life,  on  high  ! 
As  when  the  summer's  seasons  beat, 
With  scorching  flame  and  parching  heat, 
The  trees  are  burnt,  the  flowers  fade, 
And  thirsty  gaps  in  earth  are  made  ; 
My  thoughts  of  comfort  languish  so, 
And  so  my  soul  is  broke  by  woe. 
Then  on  Thy  servant's  drooping  head 
The  dews  of  blessing  sweetly  shed  ; 
Let  those  a  quick  refreshment  give, 
And  raise  my  mind,  and  bid  me  live. 
My  fears  of  danger,  while  I  breathe, 
My  dread  of  endless  hell  beneath, 
My  sense  of  sorrow  for  my  sin, 
0 


2io  Hymns. 

To  springing  comfort,  change  within  ; 

Change  all  my  sad  complaints  for  ease, 

To  cheerful  notes  of  endless  praise  : 

Nor  let  a  tear  mine  eyes  employ, 

But  such  as  owe  their  birth  to  joy ; 

Joy  transporting,  sweet,  and  strong, 

Fit  to  fill  and  raise  my  song ; 

Joy  that  shall  resounded  be, 

While  days  and  nights  succeed  for  me, 

Be  not  as  a  judge  severe, 

For  so  Thy  presence  who  may  bear  ? 

On  all  my  words  and  actions  look, 

(I  know  they're  written  in  Thy  book) ; 

But  then  regard  my  mournful  cry, 

And  look  with  mercy's  gracious  eye ; 

What  needs  my  blood,  since  Thine  will  do, 

To  pay  the  debt  to  justice  due  ? 

Oh,  tender  mercy's  art  divine  ! 

Thy  sorrow  proves  the  cure  of  mine  ! 

Thy  dropping  wounds,  Thy  woeful  smart, 

Allay  the  bleedings  of  my  heart ; 

Thy  death,  in  death's  extreme  of  pain, 

Restores  my  soul  to  life  again. 

Guide  me,  then,  for  here  I  burn 

To  make  my  Savour  some  return. 

I'll  rise  (if  that  will  please  Him  still, 

And  sure  I've  heard  Him  own  it  will) ; 

I'll  trace  His  steps,  and  bear  my  cross, 

Despising  every  grief  and  loss  ; 

Since  He,  despising  pain  and  shame, 

First  took  up  His,  and  did  the  same. 

Thomas  Parnell,  D,D. 


Hymns.  211 


C&rwtmas 

XCII. 

JfTTJHILE  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night 
*****     All  seated  on  the  ground, 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  came  down, 
And  glory  shone  around. 

"  Fear  not,"  said  he  (for  mighty  dread 

Had  seized  their  troubled  mind) ; 
"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 

To  you  and  all  mankind. 

To  you,  in  David's  town,  this  day 

Is  born  of  David's  line 
The  Saviour,  who  is  Christ  the  Lord ; 

And  this  shall  be  the  sign. 

The  heavenly  Babe  you  there  shall  find 

To  human  view  displayed, 
All  meanly  wrapt  in  swathing  bands, 

And  in  a  manger  laid." 

Thus  spake  the  Seraph  ;  and  forthwith 

Appeared  a  shining  throng 
Of  angels,  praising  God,  and  thus 

Addressed  their  joyful  song. 

"  All  glory  be  to  God  on  high, 

And  to  the  earth  be  peace ; 
Good- will  henceforth  from  heaven  to  men 

Begin,  and  never  cease  ! " 

Nahum  Tate. 
o  2 


212  Hymns. 

3[esus,  at  tfjp  Command 

XCIII. 

OJESUS,  at  Thy  command 
-3J     I  launch  into  the  deep, 
And  leave  my  native  land, 
Where  sin  lulls  all  asleep : 
For  Thee  I  fain  would  all  resign, 
And  sail  to  heaven  with  Thee  and  Thine. 


Thou  art  my  pilot  wise  ; 

My  compass  is  Thy  word  ; 

My  soul  each  storm  defies, 

While  I  have  such  a  Lord. 
I  trust  Thy  faithfulness  and  power 
To  save  me  in  the  trying  hour. 

Though  rocks  and  quicksands  deep 
Through  all  my  passage  lie, 
Yet  Christ  will  safely  keep 
And  guide  me  with  His  eye  : 
My  anchor,  hope,  shall  firm  abide, 
And  I  each  boisterous  storm  outride. 


By  faith  I  see  the  land, 

The  port  of  endless  rest ; 

My  soul,  thy  sails  expand 

And  fly  to  Jesus'  breast  : 
O  may  I  reach  the  heavenly  shore, 
Where  winds  and  waves  distress  no  more. 

Whene'er  becalmed  I  lie, 

And  storms  forbear  to  toss, 

Be  thou,  dear  Lord,  still  nigh, 

Lest  I  should  suffer  loss  : 
For  more  the  treacherous  calm  I  dread, 
Than  tempests  bursting  o'er  my  head. 


Hymns.  213 

Come,  heavenly  wind,  and  blow 

A  prosperous  gale  of  grace, 

To  waft  from  all  below 

To  heaven,  my  destined  place  : 
Then,  in  full  sail,  my  port  I'll  find, 
And  leave  the  world  and  sin  behind. 

Rev.  Richard  De  Courcy. 


Cfmst  10  TBorn, 

XCIV. 

CHRIST  is  born,  go  tell  the  story, 
Tell  the  nations  of  His  birth  ; 
Tell  them  that  the  "  Lord  of  Glory  " 
Comes  from  heaven  to  dwell  on  earth  : 

Let  the  tidings 
Fill  the  world  with  sacred  mirth. 

See,  He  lies  in  yonder  manger  : 

"  Prince  of  Life,"  His  title  is, 
'Midst  His  own,  and  yet  a  stranger, 

All  things  seen  and  unseen  His ; 
Yet  neglected  : 

Wonder,  O  ye  heavens,  at  this. 

See  fulfill'd  prophetic  vision, 

"  Unto  us  a  child  is  born  ; " 
Though  an  object  of  derision, 

Though  the  theme  of  human  scorn  : 
Yet  His  people 

Hail  His  birth,  and  cease  to  mourn. 

Hail,  Emmanuel,  child  of  promise, 
"  Lord  of  All  "  in  humble  guise ; 
Long  detained,  and  absent  from  us, 
Come  at  length  to  bless  our  eyes  : 

Hail,  Emmanuel  ! 
God  the  Saviour,  only  wise  ! 

Thomas  Kelly. 


214  Hymns. 

3[e0iis  Drains  tfje  Cup  of 

xcv. 

OJESUS  drains  the  cup  of  sorrows ; 
~j)  See,  He  lies  beneath  our  load  ; 
Gives  His  life  a  ransom  for  us, 

And  redeems  us  by  His  blood ; 
Was  there  ever  love  like  this  ? 
Was  there  ever  grief  like  His  ? 

Jesus  is  "  a  Man  of  Sorrows," 
Here  He  claims  pre-eminence  ; 

See  Him  pierced  by  heaven's  own  arrows ; 
See  Him  die  for  our  offence. 

We,  like  sheep,  had  gone  astray  : 

Jesus  takes  our  sins  away. 

Jesus  suffers — wond'rous  victim  ! 

Tis  the  Son  of  God  that  dies  ! 
Heaven,  and  earth,  and  hell,  afflict  Him  : 

Justice  claims  the  sacrifice. 
Darkness  now  exerts  its  power ; 
Darkness  reigns  this  fearful  hour. 

Come,  ye  saints,  look  here  and  wonder ; 

Come,  behold  what  love  could  do  ; 
Gaze  upon  the  victim  yonder : 

Jesus  suffered  thus  for  you. 
Bid  adieu  to  low  desire  ; 
Here  let  earthly  love  expire. 

Thomas  Kelly. 


Hymns.  215 

J£>eafl  tfmt  once  teas  Crotonefl  toitf) 
Cfjotm 

XCVI. 

CHE  head  that  once  was  crowned  with  thorns 
Is  crowned  with  glory  now, 
A  royal  diadem  adorns 
The  mighty  victor's  brow. 

The  highest  place  that  heaven  affords 

Is  His,  is  His  by  right, 
"  The  King  of  Kings,  and  Lord  of  Lords," 

And  heaven's  eternal  light. 

The  joy  of  all  who  dwell  above, 

The  joy  of  all  below 
To  whom  He  manifests  His  love, 

And  grants  His  name  to  know. 

To  them  the  cross,  with  all  its  shame, 

With  all  its  grace,  is  given  ; 
Their  name  an  everlasting  name, 

Their  joy  the  joy  of  heaven. 

They  suffer  with  their  Lord  below, 

They  reign  with  Him  above ; 
Their  profit  and  their  joy  to  know 

The  mystery  of  His  love. 

The  cross  He  bore  is  life  and  health, 

Though  shame  and  death  to  Him  ; 
His  people's  hope,  his  people's  wealth, 

Their  everlasting  theme. 

Thomas  Kelly. 


216  Hymns. 


J£mrfc,  tfte  touting  of  ®latine0s, 

XCVII. 

ARK  !  the  sounds  of  gladness 

From  a  distant  shore  ; 
Like  relief  from  sadness, 

Sadness,  now  no  more  : 
'Tis  the  Lord  has  done  it, 

He  has  won  the  day, 
His  own  arm  has  won  it, 
Joyful  let  us  say. 

Idols  lately  bowed  to 

Lie  by  all  abhorred  ; 
And  the  people  crowd  to 

Temples  of  the  Lord  : 
What  a  change  !  how  glorious  ! 

Lord,  Thine  arm  is  strong, 
Thou  hast  proved  victorious, 

Though  the  fight  was  long. 

Long  the  foe  resisted, 

Loth  to  yield  his  prey  ; 
Every  power  enlisted, 

And  maintained  the  day  : 
But  his  arm  is  shattered, 

And  the  slaves  are  free  ; 
All  his  force  is  scattered  ; 

Glory,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Hence,  those  sounds  of  gladness 

From  a  distant  shore  ; 
Then  away  with  sadness, 

And  despond  no  more  : 
Ye  who  mourn  with  Zion, 

And  her  welfare  seek, 
Think  of  Judah's  lion, 

Never  faint  nor  weak. 


Hymns.  217 

When  he  wakes  from  slumber, 

And  puts  on  his  might, 
What  is  force  or  number 

Matched  with  him  in  fight  ? 
When  his  foes  assemble, 

Hoping  to  prevail, 
Soon  the  valiant  tremble, 

And  the  mighty  fail. 

Thomas  Kelly. 


HDn  t&e  s^otmtain's  Cop. 


XCVIII. 

|N  the  mountain's  top  appearing, 
Lo  !  the  sacred  herald  stands, 
Welcome  news  to  Zion  bearing, 
Zion  long  in  hostile  lands ; 

Mourning  captive  ! 
God  himself  will  loose  thy  bands. 

Has  thy  night  been  long  and  mournful  ? 

Have  thy  friends  unfaithful  proved  ? 
Have  thy  foes  been  proud  and  scornful, 

By  thy  sighs  and  tears  unmoved  ? 
Cease  thy  mourning, 

Zion  still  is  well  beloved. 


God,  thy  God,  will  now  restore  thee  : 
He  himself  appears  thy  friend ; 

All  thy  foes  shall  flee  before  thee, 
Here  their  boasts  and  triumphs  end  ; 

Great  deliverance 
Zion's  King  vouchsafes  to  send. 


2i8  Hymns. 

Enemies  no  more  shall  trouble, 
All  thy  wrongs  shall  be  redressed ; 

For  thy  shame  thou  shalt  have  double, 
In  thy  Maker's  favour  blessed  ; 

All  thy  conflicts 
End  in  everlasting  rest. 

Thomas  Kelly. 


'fce  no  atuOing;  Citp 

XCIX. 

jrTTJE'VE  no  abiding  city  here," 
^^*     This  may  distress  the  worldling's  mind  ; 
But  should  not  cost  the  saint  a  tear, 
Who  hopes  a  better  rest  to  find. 

"  We've  no  abiding  city  here," 
Sad  truth,  were  this  to  be  our  home ; 

But  let  the  thought  our  spirits  cheer, 
"We  seek  a  city  yet  to  come." 

"  We've  no  abiding  city  here," 

Then,  let  us  live  as  pilgrims  do ; 
Let  not  the  world  our  rest  appear, 

But  let  as  haste  from  all  below. 

"We've  no  abiding  city  here," 

We  seek  a  city  out  of  sight, 
Zion  its  name — the  Lord  is  there, 

It  shines  with  everlasting  light. 

Thomas  Kelly. 


Hymns.  219 

Dion's  King:  0fmll  Keign  trictortou0. 

c. 


ION'S  King  shall  reign  victorious, 
All  the  earth  shall  own  His  sway, 
He  will  make  His  kingdom  glorious, 
He  will  reign  through  endless  day  : 
What,  though  none  on  earth  assist  Him, 

God  requires  not  help  from  man  ; 
What,  though  all  the  world  resist  Him, 
God  will  realise  His  plan. 

Nations  now  from  God  estranged, 

Then  shall  see  a  glorious  light, 
Night  to  day  shall  then  be  changed, 

Heaven  shall  triumph  in  the  sight  : 
See,  the  ancient  idols  falling  ! 

Worshipped  once,  but  now  abhorred  ; 
Men  on  Zion's  King  are  calling, 

Zion's  King  by  all  adored. 

Then  shall  Israel  long  dispersed, 

Mourning  seek  the  Lord  their  God, 
Look  on  Him  whom  once  they  pierced, 

Own  and  kiss  the  chastening  rod  : 
Then  all  Israel  shall  be  saved, 

War  and  tumult  then  shall  cease, 
While  the  greater  Son  of  David 

Rules  a  conquer'd  world  in  peace. 

Mighty  King,  Thine  arm  revealing, 

Now  Thy  glorious  cause  maintain, 
Bring  the  nations  help  and  healing, 

Make  them  subject  to  Thy  reign: 
Angels  in  their  lofty  station 

Praise  Thy  name,  Thou  only  wise, 
O  let  earth  with  emulation, 

Join  the  triumph  of  the  skies. 

Thomas  Kelly. 


22o  Hymns. 


CI. 


us,  Almighty  Lord,  this  day, 
Thy  mercies  to  proclaim  ; 
Teach  us  with  heart  and  lip  to  pray, 
"  All  hallowed  be  Thy  Name." 


Grant  that  as  we  our  wrongs  forgive, 
Our  faults  may  be  forgiven  ; 

And  daily  may  our  souls  receive 
The  bread  that  comes  from  heaven. 


Grant  that  our  hearts  no  more  may  yield 

To  sin  and  Satan's  power ; 
But  make  Thy  word  our  sword  and  shield, 

In  dark  temptation's  hour. 


Grant  that  Thou  mayst  be  worshipped  here 

As  angels  worship  Thee— 
In  love  that  casteth  out  all  fear, 

Till  earth  shall  bow  the  knee. 


When  shall  we  see  the  coming  sign  ? 

When  hear  the  trumpet  blown, 
Which  makes  earth's  kingdoms  all  be  Thine, 

The  universe  Thy  throne  ? 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


Hymns.  221 


Spiritual  ©uinance, 

CII. 

lit*  LEST  be  the  day,  all  gracious  Lord, 
*^*     Which  Thou  to  man  hast  given, 
To  sing  Thy  praise,  and  hear  Thy  word, 
And  fix  his  heart  on  heaven. 


And  while  beneath  Thy  sacred  roof, 
We  join  in  humble  prayer, 

May  eveiy  thought  be  kept  aloof 
Unfit  to  enter  there. 


Teach  us  on  earth,  however  tried, 
To  love  and  serve  Thee  still ; 

To  make  Thy  law  our  only  guide — 
Thy  will  our  only  will. 


Teach  us  to  keep  our  conscience  pure, 

Our  heart  without  a  stain ; 
Our  hope  unclouded,  faith  secure, 

Till  death  dissolves  our  chain. 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


Supplication, 

cm. 

of  God  !  descend  upon  my  heart ; 
Wean  it  from  earth  ;  through  all  its  pulses  move  ; 
Stoop  to  my  weakness,  mighty  as  Thou  art, 
And  make  me  love  Thee  as  I  ought  to  love. 


222  Hymns. 

I  ask  no  dream,  no  prophet  ecstasies ; 

No  sudden  rending  of  the  veil  of  clay  ; 
No  angel-visitant,  no  opening  skies  ; 

But  take  the  dimness  of  my  soul  away. 

Hast  Thou  not  bid  us  love  Thee,  God  and  King  ? 

All,  all  Thine  own — soul,  heart,  and  strength,  and 

mind; 
I  see  Thy  cross — there  teach  my  heart  to  cling ; 

Oh,  let  me  seek  Thee,  and  Oh,  let  me  find  ! 

Teach  me  to  feel  that  Thou  art  always  nigh ; 

Teach  me  the  struggles  of  the  soul  to  bear ; 
To  check  the  rising  doubt,  the  rebel  sigh  ; 

Teach  me  the  patience  of  unanswer'd  prayer. 

Teach  me  to  love  Thee  as  Thine  angels  love, 
One  holy  passion  filling  all  my  frame  ; 

The  baptism  of  the  heaven-descended  Dove, 
My  heart  an  altar,  and  Thy  love  the  flame. 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


c 


Come  unto 


CIV. 

tearful  eyes  I  look  around, 
Life  seems  a  dark  and  stormy  sea  ; 
Yet,  midst  the  gloom  I  hear  a  sound, 
A  heavenly  whisper  —  "  Come  to  me." 

It  tells  me  of  a  place  of  rest, 

It  tells  me  where  my  soul  may  flee  ; 

Oh  !  to  the  weary,  faint,  opprest, 

How  sweet  the  bidding  —  "  Come  to  me  /" 


Hymns.  223 


When  the  poor  heart  with  anguish  learns 
That  earthly  props  resigned  must  be, 

And  from  each  broken  cistern  turns, 
It  hears  the  accents — "  Come  to  me." 


When  against  sin  I  strive  in  vain, 
And  cannot  from  its  yoke  get  free, 

Sinking  beneath  the  heavy  chain, 
The  words  arrest  me — "  Come  to  me" 


When  nature  shudders,  loath  to  part 
From  all  I  love,  enjoy,  and  see ; 

When  a  faint  chill  steals  o'er  my  heart, 
A  sweet  voice  utters — "  Come  to  me." 


"  Come,  for  all  else  must  fail  and  die, 
Earth  is  no  resting-place  for  thee ; 

Heavenward  direct  thy  weeping  eye  ; 
I  am  thy  Portion — "  Come  to  me" 


O,  voice  of  mercy  !  voice  of  love  ! 

In  death's  last  fearful  agony, 
Support  me — cheer  me — from  above  ! 

And  gently  whisper — "  Come  to  me" 

Rev.  Hugh  White. 


I3meteent|) 

cv. 


supreme,  in  glory  dwelling, 
Of  Thy  wondrous  power  and  might- 
Earth  and  heaven  rejoice  in  telling, 
Day  to  day,  and  night  to  night  ; 


224  Hymns. 

Through  each  clime,  to  every  nation, 
Trumpet-tongued — by  sea,  by  land- 
Nature  speaks  her  adoration 
Of  Thy  great  creative  hand. 


See,  the  sun,  in  bridal  splendour, 

Tells  from  whence  his  glories  rise — 
See,  the  moon,  her  homage  render, 

As  she  climbs  the  spangled  skies  ; 
Glorious,  thus,  Thy  Word  it  beameth, 

O'er  the  soul  serenely  bright, 
Speaking  Him  whose  love  redeemeth— 

Joy  of  nations — Light  of  light. 


Some  may  strive  for  earthly  treasure, 

Gold  of  Ophir's  richest  mine  \ 
Sons  of  luxury  and  pleasure, 

For  their  honied  sweets  may  pine  ; 
Be  Thy  grace  my  soul's  possession, 

Ruling  every  turn  of  mind, 
Till  each  thought,  and  each  expression 

In  Thy  sight  acceptance  find. 

Lieut.-Col.  Blacker. 


CVI. 


JjJPLIFT  the  voice  of  melody,  your  choicest  numbers  bring, 
^*     Of  grace  divine  the  song  shall  be,  and  mercy's  flowing 

spring; 
We'll  celebrate  the  mighty  love  of  Him,  who,  throned  on 

high, 
Descended  from  that  throne  above,  to  suffer  and  to  die. 


Hymns.  225 

Uplift  the  voice  of  melody,  to  hail  the  glorious  morn, 
That  saw  in  Beth'lem's  manger  lie  the  wondrous  Virgin-born  ; 
We'll  follow  in  the  shining  train  of  that  seraphic  band, 
Whose  voices  bore,  in  choral  strain,  the  tidings  thro'  the 
land. 


Uplift  the  voice  of  melody,  "  to  us  a  Son  is  given  " — 
Shout  "peace,  good-will"  and  victory,  the  bonds  of  sin  are 

riven  ; 
He  comes  "  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,"  with  healing  in  His 

wings — 
He  comes,  a  ransomed  world  to  bless,  and  reign  the  King 

of  Kings. 


Uplift  the  voice  of  melody,  "  Hosanna  to  the  Lord" — 
Let  earth,  let  ocean,  and  let  sky  take  up  the  joyous  word, 
And  hail  with  us  the  glorious  day  that  gave  the  Saviour 

birth, 
To  Him  united  homage  pay — Emmanuel — God  on  earth. 

Lieut-Col  Blacker. 


CVII. 


/jttTERNAL  Spirit  !  Thou  whose  wing 
^^     Didst  order  fair  from  chaos  bring, 
As,  brooding  o'er  the  formless  earth, 
It  sped  the  young  creation's  birth. 


Eternal  Spirit  !  Thou  the  same 
Revealed  in  tongues  of  lambent  flame 
To  aid  the  Apostolic  band 
To  preach  the  Word  in  every  land. 
p 


226  Hymus. 

Eternal  Spirit  !  hail  to  Thee, 
Commissioned  from  above  to  be 
Our  sanctifying  comfort  here, 
Till  Jesus'  self  shall  re-appear. 

Eternal  Spirit  !  Dove  of  Grace  ! 

Oh,  make  our  hearts  Thy  dwelling-place  ; 

And  still,  with  power  divine,  control 

Each  thought  that  "  wars  against  the  soul." 

Eternal  Spirit !  lo  !  we  raise 
To  Thee  the  tribute  of  pur  praise, 
Conjoint  with  Father  and  with  Son, 
The  everlasting  Three  in  One. 

Lieut. -Col.  Blacker. 


CVIII. 

!  ere  we  turn  us  to  repose, 
Before  our  eyes  in  slumber  close, 
To  Thee  our  humble  thanks  we  pay, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  day. 

If  safe  through  many  an  evil  hour, 
If  shielded  from  the  tempter's  power, 
The  safeguard  of  our  path  we  own, 
Is  Thy  protecting  love  alone. 

Alike  to  Thee  the  day,  the  night, 
Alike  the  darkness  and  the  light ; 
Through  both,  to  us,  all  gracious  Lord  ! 
Thy  sure  protection  then  afford. 


Hymns.  227 

Around  us  still,  awake,  asleep, 
The  angel  of  Thy  presence  keep ; 
His  guardian  watch,  His  pinions  spread 
About  our  path,  about  our  bed. 

Oh,  teach  us  so  of  Time  to  think, 
As  those  who  stand  on  judgment's  brink, 
Whose  soul  required,  this  night  may  be 
Forbid  another  dawn  to  see. 


To  Father,  Son,  and  Spirit  blessed, 
Be  worship,  glory,  praise  addressed; 
Hosanna  !  Lord  supreme  !  to  Thee, 
Triune  in  glorious  majesty. 

Lieut.  -  Col.  Blacker. 


10  t&e  jFoe,  mp  Spirit  tell? 

CIX. 


is  the  foe,  my  spirit  tell, 
Or  what  the  power  of  earth  or  hell, 
That  shall  my  steadfast  bosom  move 
To  quit  my  dear  Redeemer's  love  ? 

Shall  tribulation's  gloomy  train, 
Or  sad  distress,  or  grinding  pain, 
Or  persecution  breathing  blood, 
Or  peril  by  the  land  or  flood, 

Or  famine  howling  at  my  board, 
Or  tyrant  armed  with  fire  and  sword  ? 
Not  these,  nor  worse,  my  soul  appal, 
Thro'  Christ  I  triumph  o'er  them  all. 
p  2 


228  Hymns. 

And  in  my  secret  soul  I  feel, 
Not  danger,  want,  nor  fire,  nor  steel ; 
Not  all  the  torments  death  arrays, 
Not  all  the  glories  life  displays, 

Not  empires,  diadems,  and  thrones, 
Nor  angels'  joys,  nor  hell's  deep  groans  ; 
Not  all  the  present  hour  reveals, 
Not  all  futurity  conceals, 

Nor  height  sublime,  nor  depth  profound, 
Nor  aught  in  all  creation's  round, 
Shall  e'er  my  steadfast  bosom  move 
To  quit  my  dear  Redeemer's  love. 

William  H.  Dnimmond,  D.D. 


Cfmnfts  to  <$oti  tfje  lorn 


ex. 

(tglVE  thanks  to  God  the  Lord  ! 
^^     The  victory  is  ours  ; 
And  hell  is  overcome 

By  Christ's  triumphant  powers. 
The  monster  Sin 

In  chains  is  bound, 
And  Death  has  felt 
His  mortal  wound. 


Oppressed  by  guilt  and  woe, 
In  darkness  long  we  lay  ; 
Till  Christ  on  earth  appeared — 
Then  all  was  boundless  day. 
With  terror  struck, 

The  host  of  night 
Fled  in  despair, 
To  shun  the  light. 


Hymns.  229 

Now  o'er  the  vanquish'd  tomb, 

Behold  the  trophy  blaze  ; 
The  banner  of  the  Cross, 

That  pours  its  streaming  rays, 
To  mark  the  path 

Where  Jesus  trod, 
And  upward  guide 
Our  steps  to  God. 

Give  thanks  to  God  the  Lord  ! 

The  victory  is  won  ; 
And  up  the  path  to  heaven 
Our  march  is  now  begun. 
The  hymn  of  joy 
Exulting  raise  ; 
And  shout  aloud 
The  Saviour's  praise. 

William  H.  Drummond,  D.D. 


Cf)e  J£>eatien  of  ijjeatiens  cannot  contain, 

CXI. 

CHE  Heaven  of  Heavens  cannot  contain 
The  Universal  Lord ; 
Yet  He,  in  humble  hearts,  will  deign 
To  dwell,  and  be  adored. 

Where'er  ascends  the  sacrifice 

Of  fervent  praise  and  prayer, 
Or  on  the  earth,  or  in  the  skies, 

The  Heaven  of  God  is  there. 

His  presence  there  is  spread  abroad, 

Through  realms,  through  worlds  unknown ; 

Who  seeks  the  mercies  of  his  God, 
Is  ever  near  His  throne. 

Dr.  Drennan. 


23°  Hymns. 


Cfje 


CXII. 


ARK  !  what  notes  of  rolling  thunder 
Now  proclaim  —  the  King  is  near  ! 
All  creation  starts  in  wonder, 

Sinners  shrink  with  trembling  fear  ; 
Jesus  comes  in  clouds  descending, 
Angels  all  their  voices  lending, 
And  the  songs  of  saints  ascending, 
Call  on  heaven  and  earth  to  hear. 


See,  His  glorious  throne  erected, 

He  who  once  appeared  as  man, 
Slighted,  spumed,  despised,  rejected, 

Now  unfolds  His  righteous  plan. 
Earth's  great  empires  now  are  ended, 
All  its  kingdoms  to  be  blended 
Into  ONE,  for  Christ  intended 
Ev'n  before  the  world  began. 


Ransom'd  saints  bow  down  before  Him, 

Grateful  own  His  sovereign  sway  ; 
Sinners  !  look,  believe,  adore  Him, 

At  His  throne  of  mercy  pray ; 
Ask  for  every  promis'd  blessing, 
All  your  guilt  and  sin  confessing, 
Then,  both  joy  and  peace  possessing, 
Spend  with  Him  an  endless  day. 


Dean  Bagot,  D.D. 


Hymns.  231 


Cfje  <So0pei  ^mutation. 


CXIII. 

DINNERS  come,  by  guilt  afflicted, 
™    Come  to  Christ,  the  sinner's  friend, 
Lo  !  He  calls  the  heavy  laden 

And  the  weary  to  attend  ; 
Now  He  calls  you, 

At  His  cross  in  prayer  to  bend. 


Glorious  means  has  He  provided 
From  the  coming  wrath  to  flee, — 

By  His  precious  death  and  burial, 
By  His  cross  and  agony  ; 

Chief  of  sinners, 
Here  your  peace  and  pardon  see. 


All  the  works  the  Law  requireth 
He  Himself  hath  fully  wrought ; 

From  the  curse  of  Sinai's  justice 
He  hath  guilty  sinners  bought : 

Let  your  souls,  then, 
By  His  love  and  grace  be  taught. 


Blessings  rich  He'll  freely  give  you, 
By  His  pains  and  groans  obtained  ; 

Pardon  now,  and  joys  hereafter, 
Every  source  of  bliss  is  gained  ; 

Ceaseless  pleasures 
For  His  ransom'd  Church  ordained. 


2  $2  Hymns. 

Faith  in  Him  will  lead  you  onward 
To  the  place  where  He  is  gone, 

Where  He  is  himself  preparing 
Seats  before  His  Father's  throne, 

Made  for  those  who 
Plead  His  finished  work  alone. 


Sinners  come,  refuse  no  longer, 
Angels  wish  to  see  you  near  ; 

Christ  invites  you  —  God  commands  you  : 
Give  to  both  a  listening  ear. 

Blessed  Spirit, 
Banish  Thou  their  trembling  fear. 


Dean  Bagot,  D.D. 


C&e  noblest  §>ong;0  tfmt  3n0els 

CXIV. 


noblest  songs  that  angels  sing 
*      Are  sung  in  honour  of  their  King  ; 
The  sweetest  strains  that  saints  can  raise 
Are  tuned  to  their  Redeemer's  praise. 

The  brightest  crowns  the  ransomed  wear 
In  heaven  above,  resplendent,  fair, 
They  cast  before  their  Saviour's  throne, 
And  homage  pay  to  Him  alone. 

Oh  !  may  it  be  our  lot  at  last, 
When  life's  precarious  days  are  past, 
With  them  in  clouds  from  earth  to  rise 
To  meet  our  Saviour  in  the  skies. 

*  Dean  Bagot,  D.D. 


Hymns.  233 

Cfjere  is  a  3(op  Gnfenoton  in  ^eatien. 

cxv. 

HERE  is  a  joy  unknown  in  heaven, 

The  infant  joy  of  those  forgiven, 
Who  by  their  faith  and  trust  alone 
Christ  as  their  Lord  and  Saviour  own. 

There  is  a  hope — a  hope  of  bliss — 
Which  Gabriel  cannot  claim  as  his  ; 
The  hope  a  sinner  feels  when  God 
Bathes  him  in  Christ's  atoning  blood. 

There  is  a  love — a  blessed  love — 
Unfelt  by  those  who  live  above ; 
Saints,  but  not  angels,  feel  its  spell — 
When  rescued  from  the  gates  of  hell. 

But  saints  and  angels  join  in  one 
To  worship  Jesus  on  His  throne  ; 
Their  song  of  ardent  praise  resounds 
To  heaven's  and  earth's  remotest  bounds. 

*  Dean  Bagot,  D.D. 


mg  jfeet  fmtie 

CXVI. 

7T7TJHEN  my  feet  have  wandered 
^^*     From  the  narrow  way 
Out  into  the  desert, 

Gone  like  sheep  astray  ; 
Soiled  and  sore  with  travel 

Through  the  ways  of  men, 
All  too  weak  to  bear  me 

Back  to  Thee  again  : 


234  Hymns. 

Hear  me,  O  my  Father ! 

From  Thy  mercy-seat, 
Save  me  by  the  Passion 

Of  the  Bleeding  Feet! 

When  my  hands,  unholy 

Through  some  sinful  deed 
Wrought  in  me,  have  freshly 

Made  my  Saviour's  bleed: 
And  I  cannot  lift  up 

Mine  to  Thee  in  prayer, 
Tied  and  bound,  and  holden 

Back  by  my  despair  : 
Then,  my  Father  !  loose  them, 

Break  for  me  their  bands, 
Save  me  by  the  Passion 

Of  the  Bleeding  Hands  ! 

When  my  thoughts,  unruly, 

Dare  to  doubt  of  Thee, 
And  Thy  ways  to  question 

Deem  is  to  be  free  : 
Till,  through  cloud  and  darkness, 

Wholly  gone  astray, 
They  find  no  returning 

To  the  narrow  way  : 
Then,  my  God  !  mine  only 

Trust  and  truth  art  Thou  ; 
Save  me  by  the  Passion 

Of  the  Bleeding  Brow  / 

W'hen  my  heart,  forgetful 

Of  the  Love  that  yet 
(Though  by  man  forgotten) 

Never  can  forget ; 
All  its  best  affections 

Spent  on  things  below, 
In  its  sad  despondings 

Knows  not  where  to  go  : 


Hymns.  235 

Then,  my  God  !  mine  only 

Hope  and  help  Thou  art ; 
Save  me  by  the  Passion 

Of  the  Bleeding  Heart! 

Rev.  J.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


CrofomeD  toitf)  Cfjorns, 

CXVII. 

/IpROWNED  with  thorns,  arrayed  in  purple, 
^"     O,  my  Saviour,  how  divine 
Art  Thou  in  Thy  robe  of  meekness, 

With  that  bleeding  brow  of  Thine  ! 
Oh  !  if  through  the  scorn  of  others 

My  poor  heart  can  loyal  be, 
When  Thou  comest  in  Thy  kingdom, 

Wilt  Thou  not  remember  me  ? 

Saviour  !  when  the  world  insults  me, 

I  to  Thee  will  turn  instead  ; 
See,  the  mockers  spit  upon  Thee, 

Take  the  reed  and  smite  Thy  head ; 
Oh  !  if  then  my  soul,  ashamed 

For  Thy  sake,  can  gentle  be, 
When  Thou  comest  in  Thy  kingdom, 

Wilt  Thou  not  remember  me  ? 

Christ  !  the  Rock  from  whence  for  thousands 

Once  the  healing  waters  burst, 
Now  my  wounded,  dying  Saviour  ! 

Crying  from  parch'd  lips,  "  I  thirst :" 
Oh  !  if  I  through  faith  can  only 

Find  my  freshest  springs  in  Thee, 
When  Thou  comest  in  Thy  kingdom, 

Wilt  Thou  not  remember  me  ? 

Amen. 

Rev.J.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


236  Hymns. 


on  110,  ^eatienlg  jFat&er, 

CXVIII. 


on  us,  heavenly  Father, 
For  the  love  of  Jesus,  take, 
And,  with  Thine  own  Holy  Spirit, 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 


By  the  lowly  Cradle  Manger, 
Over  which  the  angels  spake 
Songs  of  peace,  and  words  of  wonder ; 
Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 


By  the  tender  Human  Nature 

He  for  us  did  stoop  to  take, 

All  His  travail,  thirst,  and  hunger ; 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 


By  the  Tears  whose  loving-kindness 
From  His  human  eyes  did  break, 
When  He  stood  by  human  sorrow ; 
Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 


By  the  Words,  whose  free  forgiveness 
In  the  dying  thief  did  wake 
Hope  of  Paradise  and  pardon, 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 


By  the  Love  that  for  His  Mother 
Did  a  last  provision  make 
In  her  hour  of  desolation, 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 


Hymns.  237 

By  the  Plea,  that  in  His  Passion 
He  did  for  His  murderers  take, 
And  prefer  before  His  Father, 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 

By  the  Thorns,  that  mocking  crowned  Him, 
By  the  Bloody  Sweat  that  brake 
From  His  brow  in  bitter  anguish, 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 

By  His  Limbs,  outstretch'd  and  wounded, 
By  the  Cleft  the  spear  did  make, 
By  the  Blood,  and  by  the  Water, 

Save  us  for  Thy  mercies'  sake. 

Amen. 

Rev.  /  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


Sinful,  Signing  to  6e 

CXIX. 


sighing  to  be  blest, 
Bound,  and  longing  to  be  free, 
Weary,  waiting  for  my  rest, 

God,  be  merciful  to  me  ! 


Goodness  I  have  none  to  plead, 

Sinfulness  in  all  I  see, 

I  can  only  bring  my  need ; 

God,  be  merciful  to  me  ! 

Broken  heart  and  downcast  eyes 
Dare  not  lift  themselves  to  Thee, 
Yet  Thou  canst  interpret  sighs, 
God,  be  merciful  to  me  ! 


238  Hymns. 

From  this  sinful  heart  of  mine 
To  Thy  bosom  I  would  flee, 
I  am  not  my  own — but  Thine  ; 
God,  be  merciful  to  me  ! 

There  is  One  beside  Thy  throne, 
And  my  only  hope  and  plea 
Are  in  Him,  and  Him  alone  ; — 
God,  be  merciful  to  me  ! 

He  my  cause  will  undertake, 
My  Interpreter  will  be, 
He's  my  All,  and  for  His  sake, 
God,  be  merciful  to  me  ! 

Amen. 

Rev.  J.  S.  B.  Monsell,  LL.D. 


cxx. 

"OJEHOVAH  Sabaoth"— 

-3/     Tell  forth  the  great  name 
Of  Him  who  formed  all  things, 

His  praise  to  proclaim  ! 
He  marshals  His  armies 

In  battle  array ; 
O  !  dread  ye  His  anger, 

Nor  scorn  His  mild  sway  ! 


"JEHOVAH  Sabaoth  " — 
How  mighty  a  shield  ! — 

On  Him,  on  Him  only, 
Your  confidence  build. 


Hymns.  239 

Though  nature's  strong  pillars 

Should  crumble  to  dust, 
"  JEHOVAH  Sabaoth  " 

Will  cherish  the  just. 

"  JEHOVAH  Sabaoth  "— 

The  heavens  He  bowed ; 
The  Eternal  descended, 

His  glory  to  shroud 
In  weakness  and  sorrow  \ 

Yea,  stooped  to  the  grave, 
A  race  of  delinquents 

From  anguish  to  save  ! 

"  JEHOVAH  Sabaoth  "— 

His  praises  resound, 
Ye  winds  and  ye  waters, 

That  sweep  the  world  round  ! 
His  greatness,  His  goodness 

Ye  angels  extol, 
But  praise  Him,  ye  ransom'd, 

The  loudest  of  all ! 

*  Rev.  J.  D.  Hull. 


CXXI. 

high  your  notes, 
Ye  bright  adoring  throng 
Who  nearest  stand 
To  God's  right  hand 
Engaged  in  ardent  song, 
Pour  out  to-day,  along  your  utmost  line, 
The  richest  measures  of  the  art  divine, 
Through  all  your  deeps  let  peal  the  lofty  hymn — 
The  Christ  is  born  to-day  in  Bethlehem. 


240  Hymns. 

And  ye  who  roam 
Amongst  the  spacious  plains 
In  His  employ, 
Who  is  your  joy, 
Take  up  the  inspiring  strains, 
And,  while  all  heaven  in  silent  wonder  stands, 
Clap,  clap  in  unison,  your  myriad  hands, 
And  to  the  sympathetic  crowds  proclaim — 
The  Christ  is  born  to-day  in  Bethlehem. 


Earth,  earth  take  up 
The  full  harmonious  lay, 
In  hut  and  hall, 
Let  great  and  small, 
Be  one  with  heaven  to-day. 
No  gladder  news  has  thrilled  the  air  before — 
Hear  it,  ye  lost  ones,  and  be  lost  no  more  ; 
Awake  to  hope,  ye  sons  of  sin  and  shame, 
The  Christ  is  born  to-day  in  Bethlehem. 


To-day,  to-day, 
Brothers,  rejoice,  to-day 
The  clouds  have  fled, 
The  sun  has  shed 
On  every  heart  his  ray. 

Hail,  Prince  of  Peace  !  hail,  Uncreated  Light  ! 
We  give  Thee  welcome,  King  of  Truth  and  Right ! 
Our  hearts  are  glad  to  hear  the  loud  acclaim — 
The  Christ  is  born  to-day  in  Bethlehem. 

*  Rev.  William  Cowan. 


Hymns.  241 


CXXII. 

light  and  Thy  salvation, 
O  Lord,  at  length  have  come, 
Now  send  Thy  swift-wing'd  angel, 

And  bear  me  safely  home  — 
Up  to  the  shining  city 

For  which  my  spirit  faints  — 
The  fellowship  of  angels, 
The  brotherhood  of  saints. 

The  burning  words  of  prophets 

That  kindled  Israel's  hope 
Through  centuries  of  darkness, 

When  faith  and  doubt  did  cope, 
At  length  receive  fulfilment  — 

These  dim  eyes  witness  bear, 
For  Christ,  the  Lord,  is  born, 

The  Holy  Child  is  here. 

The  glory  of  the  Gentile, 

The  glory  of  the  Jew, 
Has  burst  upon  the  nations, 

And  shall  make  all  things  new. 
The  darkness  which  erst  curtained 

The  long-complaining  earth, 
I  see  it  disappearing 

Before  the  Saviour's  birth. 

My  soul,  rise  to  the  fulness 

Of  joy  unknown  before, 
Thy  mourning  days  are  ended, 

Thy  conflicts  all  are  o'er. 
O  Christ,  I've  longed  and  thirsted 

That  I  might  see  Thee  come  — 
Now  let  Death's  angel  bear  me 

In  peace  and  safety  home. 

*  Rev.   William  Cwuan. 
Q 


242  Hymns. 


CXXIII. 

JESUS  !  blessed  Saviour  ! 

Teach  us  to  know  Thee  thus  ! 
"  Made  an  High  Priest  for  ever," 

And  "  entered  in  for  us  ! " 
For  us — whose  guilt  had  lost  it — 

Thy  precious  blood  could  win 
That  long,  deep  rest  in  glory, 
With  God,  and  free  from  sin. 


O  Jesus  !  blessed  Saviour  ! 

In  all  our  life's  long  need, 
In  all  our  sin  and  sorrow, 

For  us  Thy  suppliants  plead 
Thy  precious  intercession 

Availeth  evermore, 
Till  time  and  its  transgression, 

Its  toils  and  tears  are  o'er ! 


O  Christ  !  by  God  the  Father 

Exalted  high  to  give 
Peace,  pardon,  wisdom,  glory, 

We  look  to  Thee  and  live. 
O  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter  ! 

Teach  us  to  know  Him  thus. 
Help  us  to  link  together 

"  For  ever  "  and  "  for  us." 

*  Mrs.  Henry  Faussett  (Alessit  Bond). 


Hymns.  243 


able  to  Succour  in  tfje 


CXXIV. 

to  succour  "  in  the  hour 
'**'     When  earthly  succours  fail ; 
When  doubts  and  dark  temptations  lower, 
And  shocks  of  sin  assail. 


"  Able  to  succour  "  when  the  heart 
Feels  nought  but  fear  and  sin ; 

To  bid  its  enemies  depart, 
And  whisper  peace  within. 


"  Able  to  succour  "  when  life's  breath 

So  faintly  ebbs  away ; 
Unchanging  in  the  hour  of  death, 

And  in  the  Judgment  Day. 


"  Able  to  succour  " — strong  to  save, 
Light  of  the  darken'd  soul ! 

Its  peace,  its  triumph  o'er  the  grave, 
Its  Hope,  its  Way,  its  Goal ! 


O  Saviour  !  Thou  whose  mighty  grace 

Is  all  the  sinner's  plea, 
In  all  my  need  shew  Thy  dear  face, 

Stoop  down  and  succour  me  ! 

*  Mrs.  Henry  Faussett  (Alessie  Bond). 
Q2 


244  Hymns. 

D  for  tfje  Bobes  of 

cxxv. 


FOR  the  robes  of  whiteness, 

O  for  the  tearless  eyes  ; 
O  for  the  glorious  brightness, 
Of  the  unclouded  skies  ! 


O  for  the  "  no  more  weeping 
Within  the  land  of  love  ; 

The  endless  joy  of  keeping 
The  bridal  feast  above  ! 


O  for  the  hour  of  dying, 
My  risen  Lord  to  meet ; 

O  for  the  rest  of  lying 
For  ever  at  His  feet  ! 


O  for  the  bliss  of  seeing 
My  Saviour  face  to  face  ; 

The  joy  of  ever  being 

In  that  sweet  meeting-place  ! 

Jesus,  thou  King  of  Glory, 
I  soon  shall  dwell  with  Thee  ; 

Soon  shall  I  sing  the  story 
Of  Thy  great  love  to  me. 

Meanwhile  my  soul  would  enter, 
By  faith  before  the  throne  ; 

And  all  my  love  would  centre 
On  Thee,  and  Thee  alone. 


*  Mrs.  Bancroft  (C.  L.  Smith). 


Hymns.  245 


10  TBest 


CXXVI. 


way  is  best,  my  Father, 
Though  full  of  pain  and  care  ; 
Thy  will  is  right,  my  Father, 
However  hard  to  bear. 
Thy  path  is  best,  my  Father, 

Though  far  apart  from  mine  ; 
Thy  judgments,  O  my  Father, 
With  truth  and  mercy  shine. 


Thy  gifts  are  best,  my  Father, 

Though  not  the  gifts  I'd  choose ; 
Thy  choice  is  right,  my  Father, 

Whether  I  gain  or  lose. 
Thy  word  is  good,  my  Father, 

That  bids  me  live  or  die ; 
And  I  am  blest,  my  Father, 

In  bowing  silently. 


Thy  thoughts  are  deep,  my  Father, 

Thy  love  is  calm  and  wise  ; 
My  future  life,  my  Father, 

Unveiled  before  Thee  lies. 
Thy  time  is  best,  my  Father, 

Thy  purpose  to  fulfil  ; 
O  give  me  strength,  my  Father, 

To  bow  me  to  Thy  will. 


*  Mrs.  Bancroft  (C.  Z.  Smith), 


246  Hymns. 


CXXVII. 


/fT\  MAN  of  Sorrows  !  hast  Thou  given  to  me 
^*^     The  honour  thus  Thy  crown  of  thorns  to  wear  ? 
Am  I  so  blest,  dear  Lord,  to  follow  Thee  ? 
Thy  fellowship  to  share  ? 


In  dust  and  ashes  at  Thy  feet  I  fall 

And  clasp  my  feeble  arms  around  Thy  cross  ; 
Henceforth  I  own  Thee  as  my  all,  my  all, 

And  earthly  gain  but  loss. 

This  baptism  of  fire  is  hard  to  bear, 

And  human  hearts  will  shrink  amid  the  flame  ; 
Yet  scourge  me,  slay  me,  if  I  may  but  share 

The  glory  of  Thy  shame. 


Yea,  crush  this  self  within  me,  so  shall  I 

Exalt  Thee,  Saviour,  to  Thy  rightful  throne ; 

Subdue  my  will  and  let  this  proud  heart  die 
To  all  but  Thee  alone. 


Be  this  the  single  object  of  my  life, 

With  self-renouncing  love  Thy  cross  to  bear ; 
To  be  Thy  faithful  witness  in  the  strife, 

And  raise  Thy  banner  there. 

And  if  at  times  my  spirit  shrinks  in  dread, 
Or  fails  beneath  the  pressure  of  Thy  hand, 

Be  the  eternal  arms  beneath  my  head 
Within  this  weary  land. 


Hymns.  247 

Help  me,  forsaking  all,  to  follow  Thee, 
With  patient  love  to  suffer  for  Thy  sake ; 

And,  with  a  heart  from  earthly  bonds  set  free, 
My  burden  meekly  take. 


Thus  satisfy  me  with  Thyself  alone, 

Tear  every  idol  from  my  faithless  breast ; 

Claim  and  possess  me  for  Thy  own,  Thy  own, 
And  then  I  must  be  blest ! 

*  Mrs.  Bancroft  (C.  L.  Smith). 


Horn,  of  Cfip  egercp  g>eat  our  Crp, 


CXXVIII. 


,  of  Thy  mercy  hear  our  cry 
For  this  long-favour'd  land  ; 
That  now,  as  in  the  days  gone  by, 
Her  strength  may  be  Thy  hand. 


May  she  her  holy  lot  fulfil, 
Earth's  sanctuary  to  be  ; 

And  stand  amid  the  nations  still, 
A  witness  true  to  Thee. 


And  when  the  last  dread  trumpet's  sound 

Upon  her  ear  shall  ring, 
Grant  that  her  children  may  be  found 

Prepared  to  meet  their  King. 

*  Mrs.  Toke  (Emma  Leslie). 


248  Hymns. 


HD  lorn,  Cftoii  &notoe.$t  all  tfje  ©nates. 

CXXIX. 

LORD,  Thou  knowest  all  the  snares 

That  round  our  pathway  be ; 
Thou  know'st  that  both  our  joys  and  cares 

Come  between  us  and  Thee  ; 
Thou  know'st  that  our  infirmity 

In  Thee  alone  is  strong  ; 
To  Thee  for  help  and  strength  we  fly  ; 
O  let  us  not  go  wrong  ! 

O  bear  us  up,  protect  us  now 

In  dark  temptation's  hour ; 
For  Thou  wast  born  of  woman,  Thou 

Hast  felt  the  tempter's  power  ; 
All  sinless,  Thou  canst  feel  for  those 

Who  strive  and  suifer  long  ; 
'Midst  all  our  weakness,  cares,  and  woes, 

O  let  us  not  go  wrong. 

*  Mrs.  Toke  (Emma  Leslie). 


Cfjoii  art  gone  up  on 

cxxx. 


flTHOU  art  gone  up  on  high, 
^^     To  mansions  in  the  skies, 

And  round  Thy  throne  unceasingly 
The  songs  of  praise  arise. 
But  we  are  lingering  here, 
With  sin  and  care  opprest, 

Lord,  send  Thy  promised  Comforter, 
And  lead  us  to  Thy  rest. 


Hymns.  249 

Thou  art  gone  up  on  high, 

But  Thou  didst  first  come  down, 
Through  earth's  most  bitter  agony, 

To  pass  unto  Thy  crown  ; 

And  girt  with  griefs  and  fears 

Our  onward  cause  must  be  ; 
But  only  let  that  path  of  tears 

Lead  us  at  last  to  Thee  ! 

Thou  art  gone  up  on  high, 

But  Thou  shalt  come  again, 
With  all  the  bright  ones  of  the  sky 

Attendant  in  Thy  train  ; 

Oh  !  by  Thy  saving  power, 

So  make  us  live  and  die, 
That  we  may  stand  in  that  dread  hour 

At  Thy  right  hand  on  high. 

*  Mrs.  Toke  (Emma  Leslie). 


(EHoimtieQ  ^>ore  tfte  ^tricfeen  l£)eart, 

CXXXI. 

[EN  wounded  sore  the  stricken  heart 
Lies  bleeding  and  unbound, 
One  only  Hand,  a  pierced  Hand, 
Can  salve  the  sinner's  wound. 

When  sorrow  swells  the  laden  breast, 

And  tears  of  anguish  flow, 
One  only  Heart,  a  broken  Heart, 

Can  feel  the  sinner's  woe. 

When  penitential  grief  has  wept 

Over  some  foul  dark  spot, 
One  only  Stream,  a  Stream  of  Blood, 

Can  wash  away  the  blot. 


250  Hymns. 

Tis  JESUS'  Blood  that  washes  white, 

His  Hand  that  brings  relief; 
His  Heart  is  touched  with  all  our  joys, 

And  feels  for  all  our  grief. 

Lift  up  Thy  bleeding  Hand,  O  LORD, 

Unseal  that  cleansing  Tide  ; 
We  have  no  shelter  from  our  sin 

But  in  Thy  wounded  Side. 

*  Mrs.  Alexander. 


C6e  JRogeate  I£we$  of  <£arlg  Daton, 

CXXXII. 

7JTHE  roseate  hues  of  early  dawn, 
^     The  brightness  of  the  day, 
The  crimson  of  the  sunset  sky, 

How  fast  they  fade  away  ! 
Oh,  for  the  pearly  gates  of  heaven, 

Oh,  for  the  golden  floor, 
Oh,  for  the  Sun  of  righteousness 

That  setteth  nevermore  ! 

The  highest  hopes  we  cherish  here, 

How  fast  they  tire  and  faint ; 
How  many  a  spot  defiles  the  robe 

That  wraps  an  earthly  saint ! 
Oh,  for  a  heart  that  never  sins, 

Oh,  for  a  soul  washed  white, 
Oh,  for  a  voice  to  praise  our  King, 

Nor  weary  day  nor  night. 

Here  faith  is  ours,  and  heavenly  hope, 

And  grace  to  lead  us  higher ; 
But  there  are  perfectness  and  peace, 

Beyond  our  best  desire. 


Hymns.  251 

Oh,  by  Thy  love  and  anguish,  Lord, 

And  by  Thy  life  laid  down, 
Grant  that  we  fall  not  from  Thy  grace, 

Nor  cast  away  our  crown. 

*  Mrs.  Alexander. 


iJDnce  in  Kopal  DaWs  Citp. 

CXXXIII. 

|NCE  in  royal  David's  city 

Stood  a  lowly  cattle  shed, 
Where  a  Mother  laid  her  Baby 

In  a  manger  for  His  bed ; 
Mary  was  that  Mother  mild, 
JESUS  CHRIST  her  little  Child. 

He  came  down  to  earth  from  heaven 
Who  is  GOD  and  LORD  of  all, 

And  His  shelter  was  a  stable, 
And  His  cradle  was  a  stall ; 

With  the  poor,  and  mean,  and  lowly, 

Lived  on  earth  our  Saviour  Holy, 

And,  through  all  His  wondrous  Childhood, 

He  would  honour  and  obey, 
Love,  and  watch  the  lowly  Maiden, 

In  whose  gentle  arms  He  lay ; 
Christian  children  all  must  be 
Mild,  obedient,  good  as  He. 

For  He  is  our  childhood's  pattern, 

Day  by  day  like  us  He  grew, 
He  was  little,  weak,  and  helpless, 

Tears  and  smiles  like  us  He  knew ; 
And  He  feeleth  for  our  sadness, 
And  He  shareth  in  our  gladness. 


252  Hymns. 


And  our  eyes  at  last  shall  see  Him, 
Through  His  own  redeeming  love, 

For  that  Child,  so  dear  and  gentle, 
Is  our  LORD  in  heaven  above  ; 

And  He  leads  His  children  on 

To  the  place  where  He  is  gone. 

Not  in  that  poor  lowly  stable, 

With*  the  oxen  standing  by, 
We  shall  see  Him  ;  but  in  heaven, 

Set  at  GOD'S  right  hand  on  high  ; 
When,  like  stars,  His  children  crowned 
All  in  white  shall  wait  around. 


*  Mrs.  Alexander. 


jFrom  out  t&e  Clouo  of  amber 

CXXXIV. 


4tROM  out  the  cloud  of  amber  light, 
J'       Borne  on  the  whirlwind  from  the  north, 
Four  living  creatures  wing'd  and  bright 
Before  the  Prophet's  eye  came  forth. 


The  voice  of  God  was  in  the  Four 
Beneath  that  awful  crystal  mist, 
And  every  wondrous  form  they  wore 
Foreshadowed  an  Evangelist. 


The  lion-faced,  he  told  abroad 
The  strength  of  love,  the  strength  of  faith , 
He  shewed  the  Almighty  SON  of  GOD, 
The  Man  Divine,  Who  won  by  death. 


253 


O,  Lion  of  the  Royal  Tribe, 
Strong  SON  of  GOD,  and  strong  to  save, 
All  power  and  honour  we  ascribe 
To  Thee,  Who  only  makest  brave. 

For  strength  to  love,  for  will  to  speak, 
For  fiery  crowns  by  Martyrs  won, 
For  suffering  patience,  strong  and  meek, 
We  praise  Thee,  LORD,  and  Thee  alone. 

*  Mrs,  Alexander, 

Co  Caltmrp,  lorn,  in  Spirit  note* 

cxxxv. 

fJTO  Calvary,  Lord,  in  spirit  now 
^^     Our  weary  souls  repair, 
To  dwell  upon  Thy  dying  love, 
And  taste  its  sweetness  there. 

Sweet  resting-place  of  every  heart 

That  feels  the  plague  of  sin, 
Yet  knows  that  deep  mysterious  joy, 

The  peace  of  God  within. 

There,  through  Thine  hour  of  deepest  woe, 

Thy  suffering  spirit  passed  ; 
Grace  there  its  wondrous  victory  gained, 

And  love  endured  its  last. 


Dear,  suffering  Lamb  !  Thy  bleeding  wounds, 

With  cords  of  love  divine, 
Have  drawn  our  willing  hearts  to  Thee, 

And  linked  our  life  with  Thine. 


254  Hymns. 

Thy  sympathies  and  hopes  are  ours ; 

Dear  Lord  !  we  wait  to  see 
Creation — all,  below,  above — 

Redeemed  and  blest  by  Thee. 

Our  longing  eyes  would  fain  behold 

That  bright  and  blessed  brow, 
Once  wrung  with  bitterest  anguish,  wear 

Its  crown  of  glory  now. 

Why  linger  then  ?     Come,  Saviour,  come, 

Responsive  to  our  call ; 
Come,  claim  Thine  ancient  power,  and  reign, 

The  Heir  and  Lord  of  all. 

*  Sir  Edward  Denny. 


ligfit  of  ti)t  ilonelp  pilgrim's 

CXXXVI. 


of  the  lonely  pilgrim's  heart, 
ft     Star  of  the  coming  day  ! 
Arise,  and  with  Thy  morning  beams 
Chase  all  our  griefs  away. 

Come,  blessed  Lord  !  let  every  shore 

And  answering  island  sing 
The  praises  of  Thy  Royal  Name, 

And  own  Thee  as  their  King. 

Bid  the  whole  earth,  responsive  now 

To  the  bright  world  above, 
Break  forth  in  rapturous  strains  of  joy 

In  memory  of  Thy  love. 


Hymns.  255 


Lord,  Lord,  Thy  fair  creation  groans, 
The  air,  the  earth,  the  sea, 

In  unison  with  all  our  hearts, 
And  calls  aloud  for  Thee. 


Thine  was  the  Cross,  with  all  its  fruits 
Of  grace  and  peace  divine  : 

Be  Thine  the  crown  of  glory  now, 
The  palm  of  victory  Thine  ! 


Sir  Edward  Denny. 


ffl)ur  lorn  Cf)ti0t  fmtfc  Bltsen. 

CXXXVII. 

|UR  Lord  Christ  hath  risen  ! 

The  Tempter  is  foiled  ; 
His  legions  are  scattered, 

His  strongholds  are  spoiled. 
O  sing  Hallelujah  !  O  sing  Hallelujah  ! 
O  sing  Hallelujah,  be  joyful  and  sing, 
Our  great  foe  is  baffled — Christ  Jesus  is  King  ! 

O  death,  we  defy  thee  ! 
A  stronger  than  thou 
Hath  entered  thy  palace  ; 
We  fear  thee  not  now  ! 
O  sing  Hallelujah  !  O  sing  Hallelujah  ! 
O  sing  Hallelujah,  be  joyful  and  sing, 
The  grave  cannot  scare  us — Christ  Jesus  is  King  ! 

O  sin,  thou  art  vanquished, 

Thy  long  reign  is  o'er ; 
Though  still  thou  dost  vex  us, 

We  dread  thee  no  more. 


256  Hymns. 

O  sing  Hallelujah  !  O  sing  Hallelujah  ! 
O  sing  Hallelujah,  be  joyful  and  sing, 
Who  now  can  condemn  us?  Christ  Jesus  is  King ! 

Our  Lord  Christ  hath  risen  ! 

Day  breaketh  at  last ; 
The  long  night  of  weeping 

Is  now  well-nigh  past. 
O  sing  Hallelujah  !  O  sing  Hallelujah  ! 

O  sing  Hallelujah,  be  joyful  and  sing, 
Our  foes  are  all  conquered — Christ  Jesus  is  King  ! 

*  Lord  Plunket  (Bishop  of  Meath). 


Communion. 

CXXXVIII. 


THOU,  from  whom  no  heart  is  hidden, 
Thou  to  whom  every  thought  is  known, 
We  come,  the  guests  that  Thou  hast  bidden, 
The  people  Thou  hast  made  Thy  own. 

Though  sin  and  weakness  be  our  dower, 
For  help,  O  Lord,  we  come  to  Thee  : 

We  come  to  eat  Thy  bread  of  power, 
And  drink  Thy  wine  of  purity. 

To  eat  the  bread  that  came  from  heaven, 
When  Christ  first  drew  a  human  breath  : 

To  drink  the  wine  that  Christ  has  given 
In  pouring  out  His  soul  to  death. 

To  live  the  life  that  first  began 

When  Christ  the  vale  of  sorrow  trod  ;  — 
For  Thou,  O  Son  of  God,  art  man, 

And  Thou,  O  Son  of  Man,  art  God. 


Hymns  257 

Therefore  it  is  that  not  in  vain 

We  seek,  O  Christ,  from  Thee  to  win 

A  "painless  sympathy  with  pain," 
A  sinless  pity  for  our  sin. 

*J.J  Murphy. 

JFatfcer,  tofjen  31  Seat  C&p  tiotce* 

CXXXIX. 

dJQY  Father  !  when  I  hear  Thy  voice, 
*?2/    Its  whispers  bid  my  heart  rejoice, 
And  darkness  from  my  soul  remove — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 

Though  tossed  on  life's  dark  stormy  wave, 
Though  billows  foam  and  tempests  rave, 
I  hear  Thy  voice  the  storm  above — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 

When  days  and  nights  of  mourning  come, 
And  sorrow  makes  my  heart  her  home, 
These  tender  words  my  comfort  prove — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 

Though  anguish  rack  my  feeble  frame, 
Thy  watchful  care  is  still  the  same, 
With  this  sure  hope  all  doubts  remove — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 

When  sore  the  combat,  sharp  the  strife, 
These  words  renew  my  strength  and  life — 
"  Thou  yet  shalt  more  than  conqueror  prove, 
Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 
R 


258  Hymns. 

When  rough  my  path,  and  worn  my  feet, 
When  fainting  'neath  the  noontide  heat, 
Still  onward,  upward,  I  can  move — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 


And  when  the  tempter's  wiles  are  tried 
To  lure  me  from  my  Saviour's  side, 
This  thought  forbids  my  feet  to  rove — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 


My  Father  !  in  Thy  smile  of  light, 
This  weary  waste  of  earth  looks  bright ; 
And  this  shall  be  my  heaven  above — 
"  Loved  with  an  everlasting  love." 


Isaac  Ashe,  M.D. 


mp  JLotie  10 


CXL. 

my  love  is  failing, 
Sin  and  earth  prevailing, 

Oh,  Lord,  remember  me  ! 
When  my  faith  is  weakest, 
When  the  strayed  Thou  seekest, 

Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 
When  my  foes  endeavour 
From  my  Lord  to  sever 
This  frail  heart  for  ever, 

Still  I'll  cling  to  Thee  ; 
Let  me  never  leave  Thee, 
Ne'er  disturb  or  grieve  Thee, 

Oh,  still  remember  me  ! 


Hymns.  259 


When,  in  hours  of  sighing, 
Earth's  bright  joys  are  flying, 

Then,  Lord,  remember  me  ; 
In  the  tomb  when  laying, 
Best  lov'd  forms  decaying, 

Oh,  Lord,  remember  me  ! 
When  my  heart,  benighted, 
Sees  each  fond  hope  blighted, 
When  the  joys  that  lighted 

All  life's  pathway  flee  ; 
Let  Thy  smile  to  gladness 
Turn  my  tears  of  sadness, 

Then,  Lord,  remember  me  ! 


When  life's  hours  are  closing, 
On  Thy  love  reposing, 

Oh,  Lord,  remember  me  ! 
E'en  in  death's  dark  river 
Thou  canst  save,  for  ever, 

Then,  Lord,  remember  me ; 
When  from  heaven  descending, 
All  Thy  saints  attending, 
Rocks  and  mountains  rending, 

Earth  Her  Lord  shall  see ; 
When  Thy  throne  Thou  gainest, 
And  in  glory  reignest, 

Then,  Lord,  remember  me  ! 


*  Isaac  Ashe,  M.D. 


R  2 


260  Hymns. 

3D  Sputum  Sanctum. 


CXLI. 


OLY  Spirit — love  divine  ! 

Come  and  shed  those  rays  of  Thine, 
From  Thy  heavenly  home. 


Father  of  the  poor  and  lowly, 
Giver  of  good  gifts  and  holy — 
Light  of  all  hearts  come. 

Comforter,  the  best  and  meetest, 
Dweller  in  our  souls  the  sweetest — 
Sweet  refresher,  Thou. 

Thou  that  rest  in  labour  givest, 
That  with  calm  vext  hearts  relievest, 
Solace  in  our  woe. 


Light  the  purest,  light  divinest, 
Faithful  hearts  whereon  Thou  shinest, 
Pour  Thy  radiance  in. 

Oh,  without  Thee,  blessed  Spirit, 
Fallen  man  cannot  inherit 
Aught  but  stain  and  sin. 

What  is  filthy,  cleanse  and  whiten  • 
What  is  parched,  Thy  soft  dew  light  on— 
Every  wound  make  whole. 

Bend  each  rigid  stubborn  feeling ; 
Warm  whate'er  is  cold  and  chilling ; 
Guide  each  wandering  soul. 


Hymns.  261 


To  those  in  the  faith  abiding, 
To  those  in  the  power  confiding, 
Thy  sabbath  rest  be  given. 


Give  the  crown  of  holy  living, 
And  the  death  of  God's  saints  giving 
Endless  joys  of  heaven. 

*  John  Francis  Wallet,  LL.D. 


Cfmst  our  §>im  on  us  arose 

CXLII. 

CHRIST  our  Sun  on  us  arose, 
^     From  His  glory  fled  onr  foes, 
CHRIST  our  Sun  from  us  is  gone, 
And  our  hearts  were  faint  and  wan. 
Thirsty  yearned  we  for  His  grace, 
Weary  watched  we  for  His  Face, 
While  the  bare  and  lonely  shrine, 
Waited  for  the  Guest  Divine. 

Alleluia  !    Alleluia  ! 


Joy  hath  come  to  earth  again, 
Downward  poured  the  SPIRIT'S  rain, 
And  the  rushing  wind  of  might, 
Swept  away  the  clouds  of  night. 
She  whom  weary  years  before, 
In  His  love  He  hovered  o'er, 
Mother,  Daughter,  Spouse  of  GOD, 
Chants  anew  her  song  of  laud. 

Alleluia  !    Alleluia ! 


262  Hymns. 


And  the  Apostolic  choir, 
Glowing  with  the  tongues  of  fire, 
Clearer  now  and  joyous  raise, 
CHRIST  their  Monarch's  endless  praise. 
He  hath  let  His  Breath  go  forth, 
And  renewed  the  face  of  earth, 
Bid  the  brook  a  river  be, 
And  the  river  made  a  sea. 

Alleluia !    Alleluia ! 


From  the  snows  where  Scythians  toil, 
To  Cyrene's  thirsty  soil, 
From  the  Indian's  distant  home, 
To  the  gates  of  mighty  Rome, 
Alleluia  !  raise  the  song, 
Raise  it  high,  and  raise  it  long, 
To  the  FATHER,  and  the  WORD, 
And  the  SPIRIT,  GOD  adored. 

Alleluia !     Alleluia  ! 

*  Rev.  R.  F.  Littledale,  LL.D. 


3(e0u,  most  lotitng  2Dne. 

CXLIII. 

OJESU,  most  loving  One,  who  from  Thy  glory's  throne 
-3J     Camest  to  seek  the  sheep  roaming  astray, 
JESU,  Thou  sweetest  Guest,  JESU,  Thou  Shepherd  best, 
Draw  my  heart  after  Thee,  now  and  for  aye. 

I  who  have  lost  my  way,  I  am  that  sheep  astray, 
Save  me,  CHRIST  JESU,  from  peril  of  hell, 

And  in  the  gushing  flood  of  Thy  most  precious  Blood 
Wash  me,  that  cleansed  I  may  cherish  Thee  well. 


Hymns.  263 

Comfort  of  weeping  eyes,  Thou  the  soul's  sweetest  prize, 
Fount  of  grace,  love,  and  sole  gladness  below, 

SAVIOUR,  with  Whom  is  rest,  JESU,  Thou  Shepherd  best, 
After  death  save  me,  and  guard  from  the  foe. 

JESU,  Thou  fairest  here,  Bridegroom  most  true  and  dear, 
Brighter  than  sunshine,  than  honey  more  sweet, 

Grant  me,  O  LORD,  Thy  grace,  give  Thy  lost  sheep  a  place 
When  life  is  ended,  in  joy  at  Thy  feet. 

*  Rev.  R.  F.  Littledale,  LL.D. 


toitf)  mg  Loan  of 

CXLIV. 

0f7T|EARY  with  my  load  of  sin, 
***M     All  diseased  and  faint  within, 
See  me,  Lord,  Thy  grace  entreat, 
See  me  prostrate  at  Thy  feet : 
Here  before  Thy  Cross  I  lie, 
Here  I  live  or  here  I  die. 

I  have  tried,  and  tried  in  vain, 
Many  ways  to  ease  my  pain  ; 
Now  all  other  hope  is  past, 
Only  this  is  left  at  last  : 
Here  before  Thy  Cross  I  lie, 
Here  I  live  or  here  I  die. 

If  I  perish,  be  it  here, 
With  the  Friend  of  Sinners  near. 
Lord,  it  is  enough — I  know 
Never  sinner  perished  so  : 
Here  before  Thy  Cross  I  lie, 
Here  I  cannot,  cannot  die. 

Rev.  Wade  Robinson,  C.M. 


264  Hymns. 

toill 


CXLV. 

/[gREAT  JEHOVAH  !  we  will  praise  Thee, 
^^     Earth  and  heaven  Thy  will  obey  ; 
Suns  and  systems  move  obedient 
To  Thy  universal  sway. 

Deep  and  awful  are  Thy  counsels, 
High  and  glorious  is  Thy  throne  ; 

Reigning  o'er  Thy  vast  dominion, 
Thou  art  God,  and  Thou  alone. 

In  Thy  wondrous  condescension, 
Thou  hast  stooped  to  raise  our  race ; 

Thou  hast  given  to  us  a  Saviour 
Full  of  goodness  and  of  grace. 

By  His  blood  we  are  forgiven, 

By  His  intercession  free, 
By  His  life  we  rise  to  glory, 

There  to  reign  eternally. 

God  of  Power — we  bow  before  Thee ; 

God  of  Wisdom — Thee  we  praise ; 
God  of  Love — so  kind  and  tender, 

We  would  praise  Thee  all  our  days. 

Praise  to  Thee — our  Loving  Father ; 

Praise  to  Thee — Redeeming  Son  ; 
Praise  to  Thee— Almighty  Spirit ; 

Praise  to  Thee — Thou  Holy  One. 

*  Rev.  John   White,  C.M. 


Hymns.  265 


CXLVI. 

cometh,  wanes  the  night, 
**        Dawns  the  day  that  endeth  never  ; 
Gird  your  loins,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Darkness  fades  and  flees  for  ever  : 
In  the  East  His  sign  appears, 
Crown  of  all  the  coming  years. 

Through  the  skies  a  voice  is  heard, 

Trumpet-tongued,  more  deep  than  thunder  ; 
Tis  Jehovah's  mighty  word, 

Kindreds,  nations,  hear  and  wonder  ! 
Spread  the  tidings  far  and  wide, 
Triumphs  now  the  CRUCIFIED, 

Fair  as  early  morning-beams, 

O'er  the  countless  dew-drops  shining, 
Wake  the  saints  from  peaceful  dreams, 
Slumber  and  the  grave  resigning  : 

Glad  they  rise,  their  Lord  to  meet, 
Follow  to  the  judgment-seat. 

Deep  the  awe,  the  fear,  the  joy, 

Now  the  Son  of  man  surrounding  — 
Highest  Angel-hosts  employ 

All  their  powers  His  name  resounding  — 
Christ  they  praise,  with  one  accord  — 
Christ  the  Saviour,  Christ  the  Lord  ! 

Oh  !  when  round  the  throne  we  stand 

On  that  glorious  Advent-morning, 
Gazing  on  Thy  brow,  Thy  hand, 

Clothed  with  radiance,  raised  in  warning, 
Jesu  !  may  Thy  smile  of  love 
Our  eternal  gladness  prove. 

*  Canon  Macllwaine. 


266  Hymns. 


CXLVII. 

KING,  most  meek,  most  lowly, 

O  Child,  how  wondrous  fair  ! 
O  humble  roof,  yet  holy, 
For  angels  worship  there. 

'Neath  Thee  the  Virgin  mother 
Folds  in  her  arms  of  love, 

That  new-born  babe,  no  other 
Than  His  who  reigns  above. 

Shine,  Star  !  of  all  the  fairest 
That  grace  the  Eastern  sky  ; 

Bring  gifts  the  noblest,  rarest, 
That  richest  realms  supply. 

Come,  wonder  and  adore  Him, 
Come,  render  homage  meet  ; 

Earth's  wisest  bow  before  Him, 
Fall  lowly  at  His  feet. 

Oh  !  height  of  love,  transcending 
Thy  star-encircled  throne, 

Smile  on  us,  as  here  bending 
We  worship  Thee  alone. 

Bright  streak  of  heavenly  promise, 
Amidst  our  darkest  night  ; 

Shine  on,  nor  e'er  hide  from  us, 
Thy  cheering,  guiding  light. 


Canon  Macllwaine. 


Hymns,  267 


CXLVIII. 

OLL  back,  ye  bars  of  light, 

Wide  open,  gates  of  glory  ; 
All  heaven,  behold  the  sight, 
Attend  the  wondrous  story  : 
Ye  angels  hosts  that  crowd 
Around  the  Conqueror's  car, 
Proclaim  His  praise  aloud, 
Whose  mighty  ones  ye  are. 

Rise,  saints  the  Lord  to  meet, 

To  praise  and  to  adore  Him  ; 
Come,  worship  at  His  feet, 

And  cast  your  crowns  before  Him. 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates, 
And  let  the  Victor  in  ; 
Eternal  triumph  waits 
The  Vanquisher  of  sin. 

At  morn  the  Saviour  rose, 

Like  giant  from  His  slumber  ; 
Fled  all  His  mighty  foes, 

Though  countless  was  their  number  ; 
Death  and  the  gloomy  grave 
Have  yielded  up  their  prey  ; 
Almighty  now  to  save, 
On  high  He  takes  His  way. 

Ride  on,  ride  on,  O  Lord, 

The  golden  gates  enfold  Thee  ; 
In  highest  heaven  adored 

Our  eyes  may  not  behold  Thee  : 
Yet  hear,  oh  !  hear  our  praise, 
Great  Saviour,  God  and  King, 
As  thus  our  hymn  we  raise, 
Our  heart's  devotions  bring. 

*  Canon  Macllwaine. 


z68  Hymns. 


CXLIX. 

^J  LL  bounteous  Lord  of  harvest, 
**'     Beneath  whose  gracious  hand 
A  thousand  hills,  rejoicing, 

Spread  blessing  o'er  our  land  ; 
The  clouds  above  drop  fatness, 

The  valleys  sing  below, 
While  wave  the  sheaves,  bright  golden, 

The  streams  in  gladness  flow. 

All  praise  to  Thee,  Creator  ! 

Thy  tender  love  and  pow'r 
Still  clothe  the  grass  with  verdure, 

With  fairest  hues  the  flow'r  : 
All  praise  to  Thee,  Preserver  ! 

Thy  ceaseless  guardian  care 
Spreads  wide  its  shade  and  shelter 

O'er  earth,  and  sea,  and  air. 

From  Thee  the  dew  descended, 

From  thee  the  gentle  rain, 
Thine  was  the  sun  that  ripen'd 

Each  bending  field  of  grain  : 
Thou  crownest  with  Thy  gladness 

This  joyous  Autumn-tide  ; 
While  peace  and  smiling  plenty 

O'er  all  our  homes  preside. 

Praise  for  our  labour  ended, 

For  barn  and  store-house  filled  ! 
Praise  for  the  ripe  fruits  gather'd 

From  fields  that  labour  tilled  ! 
And  when  Time's  course  is  over, 

Life's  day  of  travail  past, 
May  we  be  safely  garner'd 

With  Christ's  own  sheaves  at  last  ! 

*  Canon  Macllwaine, 


Jsacrefc 


Jjjgmn  of  t&e 


CL. 


OLL  on,  thou  SUN  !  in  glory  roll, 

Thou  Giant,  rushing  through  the 

Heaven, 
Creation's  wonder,  Nature's  soul, 

That  hast  no  Morn,  and  hast  no 

Even; 
The  Planets  die  without  thy  blaze; 

The  Cherubim,  with  star-dropt  wing, 
Float  on  the  ocean  of  thy  rays, 

Thou  brightest   emblem  of  their 
King! 


Roll,  lovely  EARTH,  in  night  and  noon, 

With  Ocean's  band  of  beauty  bound, 
While  one  sweet  orb,  the  pearly  Moon, 

Pursues  thee  through  the  blue  profound  ; 
And  angels,  with  delighted  eyes, 

Behold  thy  plains,  and  mounts,  and  streams, 
In  day's  magnificence  of  dyes, 

Swift  whirling,  like  transcendent  dreams. 


270  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Roll,  PLANETS,  on  your  dazzling  road, 

For  ever  sweeping  round  the  Sun  ; 
What  eye  beheld,  when  first  ye  glowed  ? 

What  eye  shall  see  your  courses  done  ? 
Roll,  in  your  solemn  majesty, 

Ye  deathless  splendours  of  the  skies, 
Ye  Altars,  from  which  angels  see 

The  incense  of  Creation  rise. 


Roll,  COMETS,  on  your  flaming  cars, 

Ye  heralds  of  sublimer  skies  ; 
Roll  on,  ye  million-million  STARS, 

Ye  hosts,  ye  heavens  of  galaxies  ! 
Ye,  who  the  wilds  of  Nature  roam, 

Unknown  to  all  but  angels'  wings, 
Tell  us,  in  what  more  glorious  dome, 

Rules  all  your  worlds  the  KING  OF  KINGS  ? 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


(ZEtiemng 


CLI. 

ELL  us,  thou  glorious  STAR  of  Eve  ! 

What  sees  thine  eye  ? 
Wherever  human  hearts  can  heave, 

Man's  misery  ! 
Life,  but  a  weary  chain, 
Manhood,  weak,  wild,  and  vain, 
Age,  but  a  lingering  pain, 
Longing  to  die  ! 

Tell  us,  thou  glorious  STAR  of  Eve, 

Sees  not  thine  eye 
Some  spot  where  hearts  no  longer  heave, 

In  thine  own  sky  ? 


Sacred  Lyrics.  271 

Where  all  life's  dreams  are  o'er, 
Where  bosoms  bleed  no  more, 
Where  injured  Spirits  soar, 
Never  to  die. 

Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


a  Dirge* 

CLII. 

"(tit  ARTH  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust!" 

^     Here  the  evil  and  the  just, 
Here  the  youthful  and  the  old, 
Here  the  fearful  and  the  bold ; 
Here  the  matron  and  the  maid 
In  one  silent  bed  are  laid  ; 
Here  the  warrior  and  the  king, 
Side  by  side,  lie  withering  : 
Glory,  but  a  broken  bust : 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust  !" 

Age  on  age  shall  roll  along 
O'er  this  pale  and  mighty  throng  ; 
Those  that  wept  them,  those  that  weep, 
All  shall  with  the  sleepers  sleep ; 
Prince  and  peasant,  lord  and  slave, 
Moving  onward,  wave  on  wave, 
Till  they  reach  the  sullen  shore, 
Where  their  murmurings  are  o'er. 
Here  the  spade,  and  sceptre,  rust  : 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !" 

But,  a  day  is  coming  fast, 
Earth,  thy  mightiest  and  thy  last — 
ALL  shall  see  the  Judgment-Sign, 
On  the  clouds  the  CROSS  shall  shine ; 


272  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Angel-myriads  on  the  wing  ; 
Earth  upgazing  on  its  King  \ 
Heaven  revealed  to  mortal  sight, 
Earth  enshrined  in  living  light ; 
Kingdom  of  the  ransomed  Just  ! 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !" 

Then  shall  dawn  immortal  day ; 
Death  and  Sin  no  more  have  sway ; 
Then  shall  in  the  Desert  rise 
Fruits  of  more  than  Paradise  ; 
Earth  by  angel-feet  be  trod, 
One  great  Garden  of  her  God. 
Earth  no  more  the  vale  of  tears, 
Satan  chained  a  thousand  years. 
Now  in  hope  of  HIM  we  trust : 
"  Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !" 


Rev.  George  Croly,  LL.D. 


art,  €> 


CLIII. 

flT  HOU  art,  O  GOD,  the  life  and  light 
^*^    Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see  ; 
Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  Thee. 
Where'er  we  turn,  Thy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine  ! 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam  delays 
Among  the  op'ning  clouds  of  Even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 

Through  golden  vistas  into  Heaven  — 

Those  hues  that  make  the  Sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant,  LORD  !  are  Thine. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  273 

When  Night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 

O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 
Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 

Is  sparkling  with  unnumber'd  eyes — 
That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 
So  grand,  so  countless,  LORD  !  are  Thine. 

When  youthful  Spring  around  us  breathes, 

Thy  Spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh ; 
And  every  flower  the  Summer  wreathes 

Is  borne  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 
Where'er  we  turn.  Thy  glories  shine, 
And  all  things  bright  and  fair  are  Thine  ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


IBirD  let  noose. 


CLIV. 

bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  skies, 
When  hast'ning  fondly  home, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam  ; 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 

Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 
Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 


So  grant  me,  GOD,  from  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free, 
Aloft,  through  Virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  Thee  ! 
No  sin  to  cloud,  no  lure  to  stay 

My  Soul,  as  home  she  springs  ; — 
Thy  Sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  Freedom  in  her  wings  ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


274  Sacred  Lyrics. 


2D&,  C&ou!  tofjo  flrp^t  t&e 


CLV. 

}H,  Thou  !  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear, 

How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  Thee  ! 
The  friends,  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 


When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And  even  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished  too, 
Oh  !  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  Thy  Wing  of  Love 
Come,  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  Peace-branch  from  above? 
Then  sorrow,  touched  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  275 


not  tfte  sinful  sharp's  Cears. 


CLVI. 

£f?r|ERE  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 
W*     An  offering  worthy  Heaven, 
When,  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years, 
She    wept  —  and  was  forgiven  ? 

When,  bringing  every  balmy  sweet 

Her  day  of  luxury  stored, 
She  o'er  her  Saviour's  hallowed  feet 

The  precious  odours  poured  ;  — 


And  wiped  them  with  that  golden  hair 
Where  once  the  diamond  shone  ; 

Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  were  there 
Which  shine  for  GOD  alone  ! 


Were  not  those  sweets,  so  humbly  shed — 
That  hair — those  weeping  eyes — 

And  the  sunk  heart,  that  inly  bled — 
Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice  ? 


Thou,  that  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep, 
Oh  !  wouldst  thou  wake  in  Heaven, 

Like  Mary  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 
"  Love  much"  and  be  forgiven  ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


276  Sacred  Lyrics. 


Cfjere  is  a  TBleaft  Desert* 


CLVII. 


HERE  is  a  bleak  Desert,  where  daylight  grows  weary 
Of  wasting  its  smile  on  a  region  so  dreary — 

What  may  that  desert  be  ? 

Tis  Life,  cheerless  Life,  where  the  few  joys  that  come 
Are  lost  like  that  daylight,  for  'tis  not  their  home. 


There  is  a  lone  Pilgrim,  before  whose  faint  eyes 
The  water  he  pants  for  but  sparkles  and  flies — 

Who  may  that  Pilgrim  be? 

'Tis  Man,  helpless  Man,  through  this  life  tempted  on 
By  fair  shining  hopes,  that  in  shining  are  gone. 


There  is  a  bright  Fountain,  through  that  Desert  stealing 
To  pure  lips  alone  its  refreshment  revealing — 

What  may  that  Fountain  be  ? 

'Tis  Truth,  holy  Truth,  that,  like  springs  under  ground, 
By  the  gifted  of  Heaven  alone  can  be  found. 


There  is  a  fair  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  spell 
To  point  where  those  waters  in  secrecy  dwell— 

Who  may  that  Spirit  may  ? 

'Tis  Faith,  humble  Faith,  who  hath  learned  that,  where'er 
Her  wand  bends  to  worship,  the  Truth  must  be  there ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  277 

angel  of  Cfmritp, 

CLVIII. 

2f  NGEL  of  Charity,  who,  from  above, 
™*     Comest  to  dwell  a  pilgrim  here, 
Thy  voice  is  music,  thy  smile  is  love, 

And  Pity's  soul  is  in  thy  tear. 
When  on  the  shrine  of  GOD  were  laid 

First-fruits  of  all  most  good  and  fair, 
That  ever  bloomed  in  Eden's  shade, 

Thine  was  the  holiest  offering  there. 

Hope  and  her  sister,  Faith,  were  given 

But  as  our  guides  to  yonder  sky ; 
Soon  as  they  reach  the  verge  of  heaven, 

There,  lost  in  perfect  bliss,  they  die ; 
But,  long  as  Love,  Almighty  Love, 

Shall  on  His  throne  of  thrones  abide, 
Thou,  Charity,  shalt  dwell  above, 

Smiling  for  ever  by  His  side  ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


to  t&e 

CLIX. 

Dove,  that  homeward  winging 
O'er  endless  waves  thy  lonely  way, 
Now  hither  bend'st  thee,  bringing 
The  long-sought  olive  spray; — 

*  The  Editor  is  indebted  to  D.  F.  MacCarthy,  Esq.,  for  bringing 
under  his  notice  the  above  Lyric.  It  is  not  included  in  the  collected 
edition  of  Moore's  works,  but  appears  with  other  sacred  songs,  set  to 
music  by  Sir  John  Stephenson,  arranged  by  John  Goss,  Organist  of  S. 
Paul's,  and  published  by  Longmans,  London,  in  1859. 


278  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Thou  tell'st  us  Love  still  reigns  above, 
That  God  doth  not  His  own  forget, 

That  mercy's  dawn,  upspringing, 
Will  light  the  lost  world  yet  ! 

And  see,  in  heav'n  ascending 

The  radiant  bow  of  Peace  unfurled,— 
Like  Love's  bright  arms  extending, 

To  clasp  a  weeping  world. 
Hail,  union  bright  of  mist  and  light, 

True  type  of  sinners'  hopes  and  fears, 
When  light  celestial,  blending, 

Draws  glory  out  of  tears. 

Thomas  Moore. 


!  if  t&e  atfieist's  tootD0  toete  Crue, 

CLX. 

|H  !  if  the  Atheist's  words  were  true, 

If  those  we  seek  to  save 
Sink — and  in  sinking  from  our  view 

Are  lost  beyond  the  grave  ! 
If  life  thus  closed — how  dark  and  drear 
Would  this  bewildered  earth  appear, 

Scarce  worth  the  dust  it  gave, 
A  tract  of  black  sepulchral  gloom, 
One  yawning,  ever-opening  tomb. 

Blest  be  that  strain  of  high  belief, 

More  heaven-like,  more  sublime, 
Which  says,  that  souls  that  part  in  grief, 

Part  only  for  a  time  ! 
That  far  beyond  this  speck  of  pain, 
Far  o'er  the  glooming  grave's  domain, 

There  spreads  a  brighter  clime, 
Where  care  and  toil,  and  trouble  o'er, 
Friends  meet,  and,  meeting,  weep  no  more. 

Thomas  Furlong. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  279 

0  panting:  flies  tfce  fwntet)  J£)inD, 

CLXI. 

^f  S  panting  flies  the  hunted  hind, 
^*     where  brooks  refreshing  stray  ; 
And  rivers  through  the  valley  wind, 
That  stop  the  hunter's  way. 

Thus  we,  O  Lord,  alike  distrest, 

For  streams  of  mercy  long  ; 
Streams  which  cheer  the  sore  opprest 

And  overwhelm  the  strong. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


Carolan'0  Praper. 

(TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  IRISH.) 
CLXII. 

KING  of  wounds  !  O  Son  of  Heaven  !  who  died 

Upon  the  Cross  to  save  the  things  of  clay  ; — 
O  Thou  whose  veins  poured  forth  the  crimson  tide, 

To  wash  the  stains  of  fallen  man  away  ; — 
O  Thou  whose  heart  did  feel  the  blind  one's  spear, 
While  down  to  earth  the  atoning  current  flowed ; 
Deign,  gracious  Lord  !  Thy  creature's  cry  to  hear  ! 
Shield  me,  and  snatch  me  to  Thy  bright  abode. 

Carolan. 


280  Sacred  Lyrics. 

HortJ,  manp  times  31  am  atoearg  Ctuite. 

CLXIII. 


,  many  times  I  am  aweary  quite 
Of  mine  own  self,  my  sin,  my  vanity — 
Yet  be  not  Thou,  or  I  am  lost  outright, 
Weary  of  me. 


And  hate  against  myself  I  often  bear, 

And  enter  with  myself  in  fierce  debate  : 
Take  Thou  my  part  against  myself,  nor  share 
In  that  just  hate. 

Best  friends  might  loathe  us,  if  what  things  perverse 

We  know  of  our  own  selves,  they  also  know  : 
Lord,  Holy  One  !  if  Thou  who  knowest  worse 
Shouldst  loathe  us  too  ! 

*  Archbishop  Trench. 


CLXIV. 


waves,  waves, 

Graceful  arches  lit  with  night's  pale  gold, 
Boom  like  thunder  through  the  mountain  rolled, 
Hiss,  and  make  their  music  manifold, 
Sing,  and  work  for  God  along  the  strand. 

Leaves,  leaves,  leaves, 
Beautified  by  Autumn's  withering  breath, 
Ivory  skeletons  carven  fair  by  death, 
Float  and  drift  at  a  sublime  command. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  281 

Thoughts,  thoughts,  thoughts, 
Beating  wave-like  on  the  mind's  strange  shore, 
Rustling  leaf-like  through  it  evermore — 
O  that  they  might  follow  God's  good  hand  ! 

*  Bishop  Alexander. 


Creation. 

CLXV. 

'/fit  RE  the  lonely  pow'r  of  night 
^"'     From  her  ancient  realm  was  hurled, 
From  the  throne  of  living  light 
Burst  a  voice,  "  Exist,  O  World!" 


Awful  rolled  the  solemn  sound, 
Swift  arose  the  new-born  earth, 

Deep  within  the  vast  profound, 
Ocean  trembled  into  birth  ! 


Then  amid  the  realms  of  space, 
Blazed  the  splendid  orb  of  day, 

Earth  unveiled  her  youthful  face, 
Glitt'ring  in  his  purple  ray. 

Glorious  through  the  glowing  sky, 
Shone  the  starry  host  above, 

Angels  shouted  forth  for  joy, 
Rapt  in  ecstacy  and  love. 

Through  the  heavens  triumphant  ran 
Sounds  of  glory  and  of  praise, 

Wond'ring  at  his  being,  Man 

Rose  and  joined  the  grateful  lays. 


282  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Who  was  he,  what  mighty  God 
Bade  the  reign  of  darkness  cease, 

At  the  terror  of  whose  nod, 
Frighted  chaos  sunk  to  peace  ? 


Why  before  his  dreadful  Word, 
Fled  these  eldest-born  of  things  ? 

'Twas  the  Everlasting  Lord  ! 
'Twas  Jehovah,  King  of  Kings  ! 


High  enthroned,  above  all  height, 
Glorious  in  the  bright  abodes, 

Clothed  in  honour,  robed  in  light, 
Dwells  this  awful  God  of  Gods  ! 


James  Stuart,  LL.D. 


CLXVI. 

)'ER  Heaven's  pure  arch,  a  star  of  living  light, 
Streaming  with  glory,  took  its  brilliant  way ; 
Pointing  the  joyous  travellers'  path  aright, 

To  where  the  King  of  Kings,  an  infant,  lay : 
Whilst  Angels  raised  the  solemn  song  above — 
Whose  breath  is  music,  and  whose  voice  is  love. 


Oh  !  'twas  a  strain,  more  soothing  and  sublime 
Than  e'er  before  had  met  the  ear  of  Man — 

Since,  stained  and  tarnished  by  primeval  crime, 
His  race  of  misery  and  guilt  began  ; 

And  Pleasure's  lure,  and  Passion's  fierce  control, 

In  sin  and  anguish  plunged  his  erring  soul. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  283 


"  Glory  to  God  on  highest — and  on  earth 

Peace  and  good-will  to  Man  are  freely  given — 

This  hour  is  hallowed  by  Salvation's  birth — 
O  hail  with  trembling  joy  the  boon  of  Heaven  ! 

With  ardent  faith  salute  this  happy  morn — 

The  King  of  Kings,  the  Lord  of  Lords  is  born  !" 


He  comes — not  clothed  in  majesty  and  light, 
Such  as  enrobe  "  the  God  of  Gods"  alone, 

When  Seraphs  scarcely  bear  the  vision  bright, 
But  veil  their  eyes  before  the  eternal  throne ; 

Nor,  as  when  clad  in  Terror's  awful  form, 

He  walks  on  wings  of  wind — in  thunder  and  in  storm. 


Not  so — With  aspect  all  benign  and  mild, 

The  humble  infant  in  a  manger  lies ; 
The  virgin-mother  views  her  heaven-sent  child, 

With  tears  of  rapture  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 
She  reads  the  smile  that  lightens  o'er  his  face — 
Prelude  of  pardon  to  the  human  race. 

Helpless  He  seems — yet  this  is  He  whose  voice 
Shall  rouse  the  nations  from  the  yawning  grave ; 

Then  shall  His  people  in  His  power  rejoice, 
For  He  is  mighty  to  destroy  or  save. 

All  Hell  shall  tremble,  while  the  Saints  adore, 
And  Time — yea,  Death  himself  shall  be  no  more. 

The  earth — the  Sun  shall  melt  in  liquid  fire — 

The  Moon  shall  cease  to  run  her  peerless  race — 
The  starry  host  in  splendour  shall  expire, 

And  leave  no  traces  in  the  realm  of  space  ! 
Angels  shall  gaze  upon  the  vacant  scene, 
And,  wrapt  in  wonder,  ask — "Where  have  their 
orbits  been?" 

James  Stuart,  LL.D. 


284  Sacred  Lyrics. 


lotie  of 


CLXVII. 

deep  affection's  troubled  hour 
When  sorrow  rules  the  breast, 
And  earthly  soothing  hath  no  power 

To  quiet  its  unrest  — 
When  mirth  but  maketh  jarring  din, 
And  all  is  heaviness  within  ; 

To  Thee  we  fly,  oh,  God  !  to  Thee, 

When  all  denies  relief, 
And  still  more  tremulously  flee 

In  storms  of  deeper  grief  — 
While  all  around  to  darkness  turns, 
Thy  inward  light  more  brightly  burns. 

Thy  love  which  passeth  mortal  sense 
To  sooth,  enlighten,  save  — 

Through  life  sustaining  Providence  — 
Redemption  in  the  grave  ; 

Without  it,  life  is  idle  breath, 

Without  it,  terrible  is  death. 


Rev.  y.  Wills,  D.D. 


CLXVIII. 


TTTTJHEN  late  on  life's  departed  years 
^^*"     The  scenes  and  seasons  past  — 
Their  hopes  and  joys  —  their  cares  and  fears, 
A  lingering  glance  I  cast  ; 


Sacred  Lyrics.  285 

And  mark  how  oft  hopes  fondly  nursed 

Have  dealt  affliction's  blow — 
How  oft  from  sorrow's  cloud  hath  burst 

A  pure  and  heavenly  glow  ! 

How  oft  a  moment  changed  the  scene, 

When  keenest  grew  distress, 
How  disappointment  oft  hath  been 

The  path  to  joyfulness  ; 
Methinks  I  see  Heaven's  hand  import 

The  expedient  good  to  all — 
In  time  depress  the  o'er-worldly  heart, 

And  raise  up  hearts  that  fall. 

I  gazed  on  Time's  long  page  ;  the  same 

All  guiding  spirit  still, 
Through  all  o'er-ruled  with  changeless  aim 

The  turns  of  good  and  ill ; 
One  hand,  with  unseen  touch,  combined 

The  parts  of  mercy's  plan, 
Links  of  the  eternal  chain  designed 

For  benefit  to  man. 

Rev.  J.  Wills,  D.D. 


Dn  tbe  Deatf)  of  an  3[nfant 

CLXIX. 

T  breathes  no  more  !  one  low  drawn  sigh, 

One  transient  thrill ; 
And  purely  pale  those  features  lie, 
And  dreadly  still. 

I've  seen  the  violet  wither  so 

In  April's  sun, 
But  never  dreamt  this  sight  of  woe, 

My  precious  onej 


286  Sacred  Lyrics. 

From  thy  sweet  lip  the  smile  is  flown, 

Thy  life's  young  light 
Hath  left,  where  loveliest  it  shone, 

For  death's  pale  night. 


Thy  little  hand  hath  ceased  the  strife 

Of  infant  play ; 
Each  wonted  sign  of  thy  sweet  life, 

Oh  !  past  away. 


And  yet,  and  yet,  dear  babe,  'tis  well 

For  thee  to  go  ; 
For  mournful  is  their  lot  who  dwell 

E'er  long  below. 


Thy  woes  were  light,  to  their  sad  wail, 

Who  live  to  see 
Their  bosom's  treasure  thus  lie  pale 

And  cold  like  thee  ! 


Thy  dewy  tears  were  quickly  dried, 

Thy  pains  are  o'er  ; 
Thou'rt  gone,  dear  babe,  where  they  abide 

Who  die  no  more  ! 


To  thee  this  world  of  woe  to  tread, 

It  was  not  given  ; 
Thou  art  above  with  Him  who  said, 

Of  such  is  Heaven  ! 


The  love  bereaved,  unblest  desire, 

Privation,  strife  ; 
The  waste  of  toil,  affliction,  ire, 

That  make  up  life  ; 


Sacred  Lyrics.  287 


The  saddening  loss,  the  sordid  gain, 

The  world's  control, 
Ne'er  left  one  sorrow  or  one  stain 

On  thy  sweet  soul. 

Yet  undisclosed  the  primal  taint 

Slept  in  thy  breast ; 
More  pure  than  thee  no  martyr'd  saint 

Ere  went  to  rest. 


Than  thou,  no  brighter  from  death's  sleep 

Shall  break  the  tomb, 
When  the  last  trump  peals  on  the  deep 

Its  note  of  doom. 


And,  if  the  dead  Redeemed  arise 

Ere  that  dread  morn, 
Wilt  thou  first  greet  thy  mother's  eyes 

From  death  new-born  ? 


And  shall  the  smile  she  loved  first  break 

The  death-vale's  air, 
O  !  shall  thy  voice  in  Heaven  first  speak 

Her  welcome  there  ? 

*  Mrs.  Wills. 


Coming  Dap. 

CLXX. 


)H,  seek  not  that  the  world  should  know 

Thy  deeds  of  love  and  grace  ; 
The  day  will  come,  when  friend  and  foe 
Shall  see  thee  face  to  face. 


288  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Thy  Saviour  then,  will  bring  them  forth 
Washed  in  His  sacred  blood ; 

Then  shall  thy  deeds  acquire  a  worth, 
And  God  pronounce  them  good. 


But  if  thou  claim  man's  plaudits  still 

For  all  that  man  can  see, 
Search  inward  for  the  secret  ill, 

The  lurking  vanity. 

Though  love  of  souls  impel  thine  act, 

Look  narrowly  within— 
Lest  self  should  triumph,  pride  detract, 

And  taint  the  work  with  sin. 


It  is~a  shameful  thing  to  boast, 

As  if  we  worked  alone, 
And  to  forget  the  fearful  cost 

By  which  that  grace  was  won. 

Work  on  in  silence  for  the  Lord, 

Work,  work,  while  yet  'tis  day — 
Stay  not  thy  hand  to  speed  His  word, 

Nor  let  thy  foot  delay. 

The  time  is  short,  the  hands  are  few, 

The  harvest  ripening  fast ; 
Work  with  the  glorious  end  in  view, 

Where'er  thy  lot  be  cast. 

Each  step  will  ease  the  heaviest  weight, 

While  striving  for  the  crown, 
Till,  entering  the  eternal  gate, 

Thou'lt  lay  thy  burden  down. 

*  Mrs.  Wills. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  289 

Peeking  ©OD, 

CLXXI. 

SAID,  "  I  will  find  God,"  and  forth  I  went 

To  seek  Him  in  the  clearness  of  the  sky, 
But  over  me  stood  unendurably 
Only  a  pitiless,  sapphire  firmament 
Ringing  the  world, — blank  splendour  ;  yet  intent 
Still  to  find  God,  "  I  will  go  seek,"  said  I, 
"  His  way  upon  the  waters,"  and  drew  nigh 
An  ocean  marge  weed-strewn,  and  foam-besprent ; 
And  the  waves  dashed  on  idle  sand  and  stone, 
And  very  vacant  was  the  long,  blue  sea ; 
But  in  the  evening  as  I  sat  alone, 
My  window  open  to  the  vanishing  day, 
Dear  God  !  I  could  not  choose  but  kneel  and  pray, 
And  it  sufficed  that  I  was  found  of  Thee. 

*  JS.  JDowden. 


Communion* 

CLXXII. 

,  I  have  knelt  and  tried  to  pray  to-night, 
But  Thy  love  came  upon  me  like  a  sleep, 
And  all  desire  died  out ;  upon  the  deep 
Of  Thy  mere  love  I  lay,  each  thought  in  light 
Dissolving  like  the  sunset  clouds,  at  rest 
Each  tremulous  wish,  and  my  strength,  weakness,  sweet 
As  a  sick  boy  with  soon  o'erwearied  feet 
Finds,  yielding  him  unto  his  mother's  breast 
To  weep  for  weakness  there.     I  could  not  pray, 
But  with  closed  eyes  I  felt  Thy  bosom's  love 
Beating  toward  mine,  and  then  I  would  not  move 
Till  of  itself  the  joy  should  pass  away  ; 
At  last  my  heart  found  voice, — "  Take  me,  O  Lord, 
And  do  with  me  according  to  Thy  word." 

*  E.  Dowden, 


290  Sacred  Lyrics. 

a  Bonnet  for  tfje  Cimes* 

CLXXIII. 

TfTTJHAT  !  weeping  ?     Had  ye  your  Christ  yesterday, 

^^*     Close  wound  with  linen,  made  your  own  by  tears, 

Kisses,  and  pounds  of  myrrh,  the  sepulchre's 

Mere  stone  most  venerable  ?     And  now  ye  say 

"  No  man  hath  seen  him,  he  is  borne  away 

We  wot  not  where."     And  so,  with  many  a  sigh, 

Watching  the  linen  clothes  and  napkin  lie, 

Ye  choose  about  the  grave's  sad  mouth  to  stay. 

Blind  hearts !     Why  seek  the  living  amongst  the  dead  ? 

Better  than  carols  for  the  babe  new-born 

The  shining  young  men's  speech  "  He  is  not  here ;" 

Why  question  where  the  feet  lay,  where  the  head  ? 

Come  forth  ;  bright  o'er  the  world  breaks  Easter  morn, 

He  is  arisen,  Victor  o'er  grief  and  fear. 

*  E.  Dowden. 


<ZEmmau0toarix 

CLXXIV. 

3TORD  CHRIST,  if  Thou  art  with  us  and  these  eyes 

^^     Are  holden,  while  we  go  sadly  and  say 

"  We  hoped  it  had  been  He,  and  now  to-day 

Is  the  third  day,  and  hope  within  us  dies," 

Bear  with  us,  Oh,  our  Master,  Thou  art  wise 

And  knowest  our  foolishness ;  we  do  not  pray 

"  Declare  thyself,  since  weary  grows  the  way, 

And  faith's  new  burden  hard  upon  us  lies." 

Nay,  choose  Thy  time ;  but  ah  !  whoe'er  Thou  art 

Leave  us  not ;  where  have  we  heard  any  voice 

Like  Thine  ?     Our  hearts  burn  in  us  as  we  go  ; 

Stay  with  us  ;  break  our  bread  ;  so,  for  our  part 

Ere  darkness  falls  haply  we  may  rejoice, 

Haply  when  day  has  been  far  spent  may  know. 

*  E.  Dowden. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  291 


get  £Dne 

CLXXV 


10ET  one  more  step  —  no  flight 
&     The  weary  soul  can  bear  — 
Into  a  whiter  light, 
Into  a  hush  more  rare. 


Take  me,  I  am  all  Thine, 

Thine  now,  not  seeking  Thee, — 
Hid  in  the  secret  shrine, 

Lost  in  the  shoreless  sea. 


Grant  to  the  prostrate  soul 
Prostration  new  and  sweet, 

Make  weak  the  weak,  control 
Thy  creature  at  Thy  feet. 


Passive  I  lie  :  shine  down, 

Pierce  through  the  will  with  straight 
Swift  beams,  one  after  one, 

Divide,  disintegrate. 


Free  me  from  self, — resume 
My  place,  and  be  Thou  there  ; 

Yet  also  keep  me.     Come, 

Thou  Saviour  and  Thou  Slayer  ! 


Dowden. 


T  2 


292  Sacred  Lyrics. 


Cfje  ffitft 


CLXXVI. 

f|7)OW  I  draw  near  ;  alone,  apart 
J'^     I  stayed,  nor  deemed  I  should  require 
Such  access,  till  my  musing  heart 
Suddenly  kindled  to  desire. 


"  No  farther  from  Thee  than  Thy  feet  ! 

No  less  a  sight  than  all  Thy  face  ! 
Nay,  touch  me  where  the  heart  doth  beat, 

Breathe  where  the  throbbing  brain  has  place  ; 


Yield  me  the  best,  the  unnamed  good, 
The  gift  that  most  shall  prove  me  near, 

Thy  wine  for  drink,  Thy  fruit  for  food, 
Thy  tokens  of  the  nail,  the  spear." 


Such  cry  was  mine.     I  lifted  up 

My  face,  and  from  all  speech  did  cease, 

Daring  to  take  the  bitter  cup, 

But  ah,  Thy  perfect  gift  was  Peace ; 


Quiet  deliverance  from  all  need, 
A  little  space  of  boundless  rest, 

To  live  within  the  Light  indeed, 
To  lean  upon  the  Master's  breast. 


*  E.  Dowdcn. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  293 

a  Cfmstmas  Carol 

CLXXVII. 

mQERRILY  the  minster  bells 
*"£)     Peal  upon  the  morn, 
Cheerily  their  music  tells 

"  Christ  to-day  is  born." 
Tis  the  tale  the  angels  told 
To  the  shepherds  in  the  fold, 
Chanting  heavenly  melodies, 
While  God's  glory  filled  the  skies. 

Let  us  chant  that  hymn  sublime 

That  erst  the  angels  sung, 
Let  every  race  and  every  clime, 

And  every  heart  and  tongue, 
Wake  a  world-wide  song  of  praise, 
As  the  joyful  strain  they  raise, 
Earth  proclaim  and  heaven  reply 
"  Glory  be  to  God  on  High!" 

Not  myrrh,  nor  frankincense,  nor  gold, 

The  offerings  we  bring, 
As  royal  Magians  gave  of  old, 

To  Child  and  God  and  King. 
We  give  not  part,  we  give  the  whole ; 
We  give  our  spirit,  body,  soul, 
We  love,  and  worship,  and  obey, 
The  infant  God-King  born  to-day. 

Minster  bells,  peal  merrily 

On  this  festal  morn — 
"  Glory  be  to  God  on  High  ! 

Christ  to-day  is  born  ! " 
So  sang  the  Church  in  ages  past, 
So  shall  she  sing  while  time  shall  last, 
Her  hymn  on  earth,  while  warring,  given, 
Her  hymn  triumphant  yet  in  heaven  ! 

*  John  Francis  Waller,  LL.D. 


294  Sacred  Lyrics. 

He.st  in  t&e  JLorti* 


CLXXVIII. 

•WEST  in  the  Lord,  blest  in  the  Lord, 

^^     Washed  in  the  blood  of  Him  that  was  slain  ; 

Glorious  the  throng  raising  the  song, 

Thousands  and  thousands  are  swelling  the  strain — 
Holy  !  Holy  !  Lord  of  Hosts  ! 

God  everlasting  all  ages  before  ; 
Angels  adore  Thee,  saints  bow  before  Thee ; 

Heaven  with  the  glory  is  filled  evermore. 


Past  the  deep  wave,  past  the  dark  grave, 

Death  with  its  terrors,  life  with  its  tears ; 
Christ  is  our  own — King  on  his  throne, 

Love  that  is  perfect  hath  cast  out  our  fears  : 
Through  great  tribulation  past 

Sweet  our  rest  in  heaven  above ; 
White  our  array,  sin  washed  away, 

Ever  to  live  in  the  light  of  His  love. 


Raise  high  the  song,  sing  the  new  psalm, 

Casting  your  crowns  before  the  throne  of  gold  ; 
Praise  to  the  Lord,  praise  to  the  Lamb, 

Glory  and  honour  and  praise  as  of  old. 
Alleluia  !  Alleluia ! 

Glory  and  wisdom,  and  blessing  and  power, 
Be  to  the  Lord,  be  to  the  Lamb, 

Praise  to  our  God  and  the  Lamb  evermore  ! 

*  John  Francis  Waller,  LL.D. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  295 


Dei. 


CLXXIX. 

2f  GNUS  DEI  !  when  the  heart  is  weary 

**     With  its  load  of  sin  ; 

When  all  without  is  black  and  dreary 

And  hope  is  faint  within, 
Faith  looks  up  to  Thee  to  bear 
All  that  load  of  sin  and  care  ; 
Thou  canst  give  the  soul  repose 
From  its  guilt  and  from  its  woes. 


Agnus  Dei  !  when  that  hour  is  near  me, 

Terrible  to  all. 
By  Thy  love  for  sinners  hear  me 

When  to  Thee  I  call ; 
Through  the  darkness  of  that  night 
Be  my  comfort  and  my  light, 
From  the  victory  of  the  grave 
Thou  canst  rescue,  Thou  canst  save. 


Agnus  Dei  !  when  my  trembling  spirit 

In  that  ireful  day 
Waits  the  judgment,  let  Thy  merit 

Plead  for  me,  I  pray. 
On  Thy  sacrifice  most  holy 
Rest  I  my  redemption  solely, 
Thy  precious  blood  my  great  salvation — 
Thy  death  my  life — Thy  Cross  my  exaltation. 

*  John  Francis  Waller,  LL.D. 


296  Sacred  Lyrics. 

a  §>ong  of  §>u0tainment. 

CLXXX. 

7|7f|HEN  the  riddle  of  thy  life  darkest  seems ; 
^*^*         When  no  beams 
Pierce  thy  soul,  of  heavenly  light, 
And  thou  dreamest  in  the  night 

Evil  dreams : 
Truly  love  the  True,  and  truth  shalt  thou  find  ; 

Thy  vext  mind 
Shall  attain  a  golden  shore 
Which  thou  sawest  not  before, 

Being  blind. 
When  the  darkness  as  of  Egypt  round  thee  clings ; 

When  the  wings 
Of  vampyres  foul  flap  near, 
And  fiend-voices  in  thine  ear 

Whisper  things 
Obscene  and  horror-fraught,  to  drag  thee  down ; 

When  God's  frown 
Seems  in  anger  o'er  thee  bent, 
Heaven  shut,  and  Christ  content 

Thou  shouldst  drown  : 
Doubt  all  else,  if  in  thine  anguish  doubt  thou  must, 

Only  trust 

That,  though  thou  be  tempest-tost, 
Rudder  gone  and  compass  lost, 

God  is  just. 


Faint  and  weary,  wait  on  God  patiently  : 

It  may  be 

He  would  have  thee  stand  and  wait, 
Till  He  ope  for  thee  a  gate 

Meet  for  thee. 
Being  strong,  strive  ever  upward  like  a  fire ; 

Still  aspire 


Sacred  Lyrics.  297 

Toward  the  Perfect  and  the  Pure — 
God  appoints  thy  life,  be  sure, 

Never  tire. 
Trust  that  all  things  well-ordered  from  above 

Rightly  move. 

God  is  just — hold  fast  that  creed, 
It  will  serve  thee  in  thy  need, 
Till  thou  come  to  know  indeed 

God  is  love. 

*  John  Todhuntcr. 


Cfjere  0ball  come  false  C&ri0t0. 

CLXXXI. 

DREAMED  of  a  phantom  Christ 

That  fleeted  athwart  the  sky, 
Fleeted  and  flickered  across,  and  enticed 
After  it,  smiling,  a  smiling  throng, 
Whose  hymns  were  loud  as  they  hurried  along, 
Crowned  with  flowers  and  proudly  elate, 
Jauntily  blowing  the  trump  of  fate 
In  the  ears  of  the  sorrow-stricken, 
Leaving  the  fainting  world  to  sicken 
In  the  smoke  of  hell,  and  to  die. 


I  dreamed  of  a  spectre  Christ 

That  wandered  o'er  all  the  earth  ; 
On  its  altars  were  sacrificed 
Sacred  pledges  and  solemn  vows ; 
Sin  built  temples,  with  shameless  brows, 
Virtue-whitewashed'renewed  her  youth, 
Lying  her  lies  in  the  cause  of  truth, 
Handing  tracts  to  the  sinners  around — 
All  that  grace  might  the  more  abound. 
She  had  experienced  a  true  new-birth. 


298  Sacred  Lyrics. 

I  dreamed  of  a  demon  Christ 

That  glared  upon  land  and  sea, 
Throned  like  Juggernaut,  coldly  iced 
In  the  frozen  armour  of  creed ; 
Nerves  must  quiver  and  hearts  must  bleed 
For  its  worship  where'er  it  came,— 
Fair  limbs  writhe  in  the  scorching  flame, 
Torments,  famine,  and  plague,  and  wars, 
Made  men  mad  under  sun  and  stars, 
To  prove  its  dreadful  divinity. 


I  dreamed  of  a  suffering  Christ, 

A  sorrowful  Son  of  Man, 
Clad  in  derision — a  stone  sufficed 
For  his  pillow,  his  home  the  street, 
Rest  was  none  for  his  lonely  feet, 
Faint  he  was,  and  none  brought  him  wine  : 
But  who  gazed  in  those  eyes  divine 
Straight  grew  wise  in  life-mysteries, 
Wise  in  all  human  sympathies, 
Read  in  the  world  its  inner  plan. 


I  dreamed  of  an  awful  Christ, 

The  terrible  Son  of  God  : 
Him,  the  blood  of  whose  eucharist 
Works,  like  leaven,  in  wine  and  bread, 
Life  in  the  living,  death  in  the  dead, 
Where  the  gleam  of  his  sun-crown  fell, 
Earth,  self-judged,  became  heaven  or  hell ; 
Plunged  in  God,  like  a  lake  of  fire, 
Each  drank  deep  of  his  heart's  desire, 

Love  or  hate — waxed  or  waned  in  God. 
When  things  that  be  are  as  things  that  seem, 
Then  all  the  world  will  have  dreamed  this  dream. 

*  John  Todhunter. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  299 


CLXXXII. 

E  Christ-Child  came  to  my  bed  one  night, 
He  came  in  tempest  and  thunder  ; 
His  presence  woke  me  in  sweet  affright, 

I  trembled  for  joy  and  wonder  ; 
He  bore  sedately  His  Christmas-tree, 

It  shone  like  a  silver  willow, 
His  grave  child's  eyes  looked  wistfully 
As  He  laid  a  branch  on  my  pillow. 


And  when  He  had  left  me  alone,  alone, 

And  all  the  house  lay  sleeping, 
I  planted  it  in  a  nook  of  my  own, 

And  watered  it  with  my  weeping. 
And  there  it  strikes  its  roots  in  the  earth, 

And  opens  its  leaves  to  heaven  ; 
And  when  its  blossoms  have  happy  birth, 

I  shall  know  my  sins  forgiven. 

*  John  Todhunter. 


lone  Hocft, 


CLXXXIII. 

-JIT  HERE  is  a  single  stone 
^^     Above  yon  wave, 
A  rocky  islet  lone  — 
Where  tempests  rave. 

What  doth  it  there  ?—  the  sea, 

Restless  and  deep, 
Breaks  round  it  mournfully, 

And  knows  no  sleep. 


300  Sacred  Lyrics. 

The  sea  hath  hung  it  round 
With  its  wild  weed, 

No  place  can  there  be  found 
For  better  seed. 


Storm-beaten  rock  !  no  change 

'Tis  thine  to  know, 
Only  the  water's  range 

Of  ebb  and  flow. 


The  happy  sounds  of  earth 

Are  not  for  thee, 
The  voice  of  human  mirth — 

Of  children's  glee  : 


No  song  of  birds  is  thine, 
No  crown  of  flowers  ! 

Say,  dost  thou  not  repine 
Through  long  lone  hours  ? 


Yet  stars  for  thee  are  bright 

In  midnight  skies, 
And  tranquil  worlds  of  light 

Around  thee  rise  : 


They  smooth  thine  ocean-bed, 

Its  heavings  cease, 
While  they,  from  o?er  thy  head, 

Breathe  on  thee  peace. 


The  wearied  man  of  grief 

Like  thee  I  deem, 
To  whom  comes  no  relief 

Through  life's  dark  dream. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  301 


No  human  ties  are  left, 
Earth's  hopes  are  gone ; 

He  dwells,  a  thing  bereft — 
Blighted — alone. 


Yet  o'er  him  from  above 

Bright  spirits  bend ; 
And  He  whose  name  is  Love, 

Calls  him  His  friend  ; 


And  thus  he  thankful  learns 
Why  grief  was  given, 

And  trusting,  peaceful,  turns 
To  God  in  Heaven. 


Rev.   T.    V.  Fosbery,  M.A. 


Cfie  Communion  of 

CLXXXIV. 


o'er  the  desert  plains  the  wild  wind  sweeps, 
Swift  o'er  the  sea,  that  heaves  beneath  its  power, 
And  steady  flight  o'er  fairest  scenes  it  keeps, 

Tho'  perfume  breathes  from  every  sunlit  bower  : 
Earth  knows  no  charm  its  onward  course  to  stay  ; 
It  takes  no  rest,  it  passeth  on,  alway. 


Lord,  are  we  likened  to  this  fleeting  wind  ? — 
To  quit  this  earthly  life  we  do  not  grieve, 

But  must  the  yearning  spirit  leave  behind 

The  dear  and  true  whom  it  is  death  to  leave  ? 

Sure  our  strong  hearts'  deep  love  can  never  fail 

As  part  and  break  the  clouds  before  the  gale. 


302  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Only  the  mortal  frame  can  fade  and  die  ; 

All  that  is  worthy  of  a  spirit's  love 
Shall  cleave  to  us  throughout  eternity, 

Shall  dwell  with  us  in  far  bright  worlds  above 
Here  if  pains,  partings,  sorrows,  cares  molest — 
Swift  flight  is  ours — before  us  lies  our  rest. 


Here  we  are  severed  far  ;  Thou  seest,  Lord, 
How  each  in  lonely  course  is  onward  driven  ; — 

Thy  righteousness,  Thy  love,  Thy  strength  afford, 
So  shalt  Thou  gather  us  to  meet  in  Heaven ; 

And  us,  Thy  wandering  winds,  Thou  then  shalt  own, 

'Hushed  into  still  pure  air,  around  Thy  throne. 

*  Rev.   T.    V.  Fosbery,  M.A. 


TBoto  of  Promise* 


CLXXXV. 

STOOD  beside  yon  fountain,  where  the  sun 
Looked  on  the  waters  as  they  rose  and  fell 
Through  the  calm  air  unceasingly,  with  plash 
Monotonous.     Their  column  only  gave 
Back  to  the  eye  a  glimmer  cold  and  pale. 
Sudden,  a  wind  descending  smote  the  trees 
That  stood  around,  and  smote  the  waters,  too, 
As  they  sprang  upward  ;  marring,  as  it  seemed, 
The  fair  proportions  of  their  pillared  height. 
But,  as  the  breeze  seized  thus  upon  the  jet, 
And  broke  it  into  spray,  a  thousand  gems 
Flashed  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  water-cloud 
Gave  forth  a  Rainbow,  radiant  as  the  first 
Set  by  our  Father  as  His  sign  in  heaven. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  303 

O  tossed  with  tempests  and  not  comforted  ! 
O  tried  and  smitten  one  !  thy  weary  heart 
Must  read  its  lesson  here.     Thy  Saviour's  love 
(Shaken  and  broken  though  thy  spirit  be) 
Sends  down  this  visiting  of  stormy  grief 
To  mark  thee  with  His  Bow  of  Promise  now, 
And  keep  thee  for  His  own  eternally. 

*  Rev.   T.    V.  Fosbery,  M.A. 


iLent 

CLXXXVI. 

marks  the  Spring  :  It  is  the  Spring  of  tears, 
That  primal  rain  which  fell  at  Eden's  gate 
From  our  first  parents'  hearts  disconsolate, 
Now  wept  anew,  for  that  the  Cross  appears 
Down  the  long  vista  of  the  forty  days  ; 
That  while  the  reverent  heart  in  sad  amaze, 
Upon  the  Smybol  that  Faith's  hand  uprears, 

In  lowly  hope,  and  voiceless  love  doth  gaze 
Until  glad  victory  comes  and  clothes  it  round  with  rays. 

Lent  is  a  wilderness,  a  lonely  place 

To  hide  our  souls  in  from  the  giddy  throng  ; 
We  sit  outside  of  Eden  mourning  long 

Our  lost  estate,  our  ancient  Fall  from  Grace ; 
We  sit  and  weep  beside  the  Cross  of  shame 
Alone  and  wear  the  days  out  in  self-blame : 

But  Jesus  turns  on  us  His  pitying  face, 

We  are  His  sheep,  He  calleth  us  by  name, 
And  comforts  dwell  where  sorrows  erewhile  went 
and  came. 

*  Rev.  R.    W.  Buckley,  D.D. 


304  Sacred  Lyrics. 


CLXXXVII. 

Summer  eves, 

When  the  spirit  of  music  awakes  in  the  leaves, 
Whispering  low  sweet  tones  ; 
When  the  stars  look  down  on  the  quiet  scene, 
As  happy  as  if  they  were  angels'  thrones  ; 
No  sound,  I  ween, 
Steeps  the  soul  in  a  calm  so  holy 
As  that  now  gay,  now  melancholy, 
Which  dwells  and  swells 
In  the  tinkling  of  the  vesper  bells. 
Listen,  listen  ;  listen  and  come,  young  and  old  ; 
Enter  the  antique  shrine,  behold 
How  slantingly  the  stain'd  rays  pour 
Their  hues  on  the  tessellated  floor  ; 
The  footfall's  sound 

Through  the  pillar'd  aisle  runs  round  and  round  ; 
The  sainted  figures  as  you  pass 
Seem  to  smile  from  the  tinted  glass  ; 
The  worshippers  are  upon  bended  knees. 
Heed  not  these  ; 
While  the  penitential  prayer 
Swells  full  of  sorrow  on  the  air  ; 
The  solemn  aisles  of  the  temple  thrill 
Till  the  words  of  absolution  fall 
Like  the  dew  of  heaven,  to  still 
The  restless  hearts  of  all. 
Hark  !  the  chant  hovers  and  floats 
Over  the  pealing  organ-notes  ; 
Up  to  the  choir  of  seraphim 
Rise  the  cadences  of  that  holy  hymn. 
The  Soul,  an  athlete 
From  the  arena's  dust  and  heat, 
Now  drinks  the  cup  of  strength  and  youth, 
Drawn  from  the  fount  of  the  Word  of  Truth. 
Resting  at  Jesus'  feet. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  305 


The  world  shut  out,  the  heart  keeps  tryst 

Alone  and  long  with  the  Saviour  Christ, 

Until  the  words  of  blessing  shed 

Seal  the  grace  to  heart  and  head. 

In  sooth,  an  image  of  joy  divine 

At  evensong  is  thine, 

If  thou  prayest  thus  at  the  day's  decline. 


Rev.  R.    W.  Buckley,  D.D. 


Ctoiligfrt 

CLXXXVIII. 


may  tell  how  often  sorrow 
Cometh  at  the  close  of  day  ; 
Sorrow  for  the  sinful  record 

Borne  by  passing  time  away  ; 
Sorrow  for  good  resolutions 

Broken  in  the  toil  of  life  ; 
For  the  Christian's  weapons  tarnished, 

Blunted  in  the  daily  strife  ; 
For  the  weakly  heart's  backsliding 

In  the  journey  to  its  bourne  ; 
For  the  dulness  of  the  spirit 

Dwelling  in  its  carnal  urn. 
Yet  this  sorrow  bringeth  comfort, 

When  it  bends  the  contrite  knee 
In  an  act  of  heartfelt  worship, 

In  a  deep  humility. 
Then  it  is  the  blest  forerunner 

Of  a  grace  that  steals  always, 
With  refreshing  to  the  spirit, 

Changing  sighs  to  songs  of  praise. 
Sorrow  such  as  this  be  ever 

Welcome  to  this  heart  of  mine, 
Through  such  tears  a  hopeful  rainbow 

O'er  my  future  path  doth  shine  ; 
u 


306  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Minister  of  heaven's  giving, 

Messenger  to  clear  the  way, 
Till  the  love  of  God  descending 

Teaches  all  my  soul  to  pray. 
And,  in  answer,  such  a  measure 

Of  His  strength  divine  comes  down, 
That  my  spirit  more  tharjL  ever 

Strives  to  win  and  wear  the  crown. 
Godly  sorrow,  oft  come  hither 

On  the  stilly  wings  of  eve, 
Such  a  holy  joy  attends  thee 

That  it  is  a  bliss  to  grieve. 


*  Rev.  R.    W.  Buckley,  D.D. 


for 

CLXXXIX. 

|  EAR  your  cross,  Christian,  yes,  bravely  bear  on  ! 

'Tis  heavy  and  galling,  your  strength  well-nigh  gone ; 
Yet  carry  it  patiently — lay  it  not  down — 
Think  of  the  Crucified — think  of  the  crown  ! 

Lonely,  despairing,  heart-sick  unto  tears, 
You  look  at  the  future — the  prospect  of  years ; 
"  My  burden  is  heavy,  my  journey  is  long, 
My  spirit  is  weary,  and  I  far  from  strong, 
Who  will  deliver  me  ? — no  one  is  nigh — 
Here  let  me  perish,  O  Lord,  I  would  die  ! " 

Traveller,  traveller,  take  up  thy  cross, 
Follow  Him,  follow  Him,  loving  the  loss, 
Loving  affliction,  and  coldness,  and  hate  ; 
Suffer  and  work  for  Him,  patiently  wait, 
Watch  for  the  clearness  that  comes  from  above, 
And  all  this  dreariness  love  for  His  love. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  307 

A  snow-storm — black  darkness — a  father  from  home — 
There  bright  is  the  comfort,  and  why  does  he  roam  ? 
The  true  man  is  toiling,  he  chooses  the  pain, 
And  for  his  affection,  his  loss  is  his  gain. 
Biting  and  bitter  the  blows  of  the  storm, 
He  thinks  of  his  fireside,  cheery  and  warm, 
Thinks  of  his  family,  thinks  of  their  smiles, 
And  patiently  wears  through  the  wearisome  miles. 


Christian,  hear  that  which  an  earthly  love  saith, 
Look  thou  up  higher,  through  darkness  and  death, 
Look  up  above  and  beyond  the  cold  night — 
Think  of  a  brighter,  a  cheerfuller  light 
Than  that  which  illumines  the  family  hearth — 
Thy  family,  faint  one,  smiles  far  above  earth ; 
Its  light  Is  the  LAMB,  and  that  light  may  be  won  ! 
Endure  to  the  end,  thou  art  owned  as  a  son ; 
Think  of  the  circle  surrounding  the  throne — 
Think  of  thy  welcome  there — bravely  bear  on  ! 

*  Rev.  J.  Andrews,  M.A.,  P.M. 


Pain. 

cxc. 

27[|HEN  low  and  selfish  is  the  life  I  lead, 

*"*"l     And  when  my  heart  grows  commonplace  and  vain ; 

Show  it  the  better  way,  altho'  it  bleed, 

Stern  Teacher,  Pain  ! 

When  I  forget  what  to  the  poor  is  due, 

And  when  I  make  of  others'  loss  my  gain, 
Then,  with  the  Nails  of  Calvary,  pierce  me  through, 

Wise  Master,  Pain  ! 
u  2 


308  Sacred  Lyrics. 

I  did  not  see  the  baseness  of  my  life — 

Its  passions  blind,  and  its  resolves  insane — 
What  hushed  the  sounds  of  an  ignoble  strife  ? 

The  voice  of  Pain  ! 


My  soul  will  rise  on  wings  of  golden  thoughts, 
Tho'  I  "  among  the  pots  "  have  lowly  lain  ; 
Thy  touch  severe  hath  freed  my  soul  from  blots — 

The  touch  of  Pain  ! 


I've  seen  a  Crown  of  Thorn,  a  soldier's  Spear, 

By  which  my  earth-born  passion  has  been  slain — 
Thou  art  a  faithful  friend,  altho'  severe, 

My  Teacher,  Pain  ! 

"  Lo,  these  are  they  who  come  from  sufferings  great ! " 

Perhaps,  I  shall  to  these  glad  seats  attain, 
I  hope — I  kiss  my  rod  with  heart  elate, 

Dear  Master,  Pain ! 

*  Rcv.J.  Andrews,  M.A.,  P.M. 


of  3(nfant 

CXCI. 


was  this  forehead  finely  formed, 
Meet  temple  of  a  noble  mind  — 
Why  this  small  frame  with  spirit  warmed, 
So  soon  to  be  to  God  resigned  ? 

I  asked,  while  gazing  on  the  face 

Where  lingering  charms  yet  left  by  Death, 
Spoke  not  of  Earth,  but  of  a  place 

Where  purer  life  is  more  than  breath. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  309 

It  cannot  be  a  thing  so  dear 

Has  come  and  gone  in  vain,  thought  I ; 
Nay,  it  has  preached  its  half-a-year, 

As  others  half-a-century. 


Its  peace,  and  love,  and  purity, 

In  harder  hearts  were  shed  abroad — 
Some  preaching  half-a-century 

Perhaps  have  fewer  turned  to  God. 

*  Rev.J.  Andrews,  M.A.,  P.M. 


Cfje  §>etien  Beaten  TBooit, 

CXCII. 

A.EE  the  Lamb  take  up  the  scroll, 
^     All  its  pictur'd  coils  unroll ; 
See  the  saints  and  elders  hold 
Each  a  harp  and  urn  of  gold, 
Full  of  odours  rich  and  rare — 
Such  the  saints  petitions  are. 
Hark  !  they  sing  a  new  taught  psalm  : 
Thou  art  worthy,  Saviour  Lamb. 

Worthy  Thou  the  roll  to  take, 
All  the  seven  seals  to  break, 
Thou  wast  slain,  and  by  Thy  blood, 
Didst  redeem  us  all  to  God, 
Gathered  from  all  tongues  and  times, 
From  all  nations,  and  all  climes, 
Mad'st  them  regal  priests  to  be, 
In  Thy  land  to  reign  with  Thee. 

*  Rev.  James  Glasgow^  D.D 


310  Sacred  Lyrics. 


anB  Gentile* 


CXCIII. 


9T7[|HERE  is  the  breath  of  heaven 
*m*     That  breathed  upon  the  dead, 
When  visions  bright  were  given, 
And  light  prophetic  shed  ? 


Oh  !  when  shall  those  who  slumber 
As  still  and  deep  as  death, 

A  vast  uncounted  number, 
Feel  the  awaking  breath  ? 


When  shall  the  bones  be  shaken, 
And  each  its  place  assume, 

And  dust  to  life  awaken, 
Long  silent  in  the  tomb  ? 


When  shall  the  Jews  who  stumble, 
And  their  Messiah  spurn, 

In  heart  and  spirit  humble 
Back  unto  Him  return  ? 


When  shall  the  heathen  nations 
That  worship  wood  and  stone, 

And  men's  imaginations, 
The  one  Jehovah  own  ? 


O  Lord,  let  false  religion, 
With  all  its  powers,  give  way, 

And  men  of  every  region 
The  King  of  kings  obey. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  311 

Oh,  with  Thy  great  commission, 

Speed,  speed  Thy  servants  on, 
Till  gloomy  superstition 

Be  finally  o'erthrown ; 

Till  Babel-tongu'd  delusion 

Be  struck  for  ever  dumb, 
And  own,  in  deep  confusion, 

Messiah's  kingdom  come. 

*  Rev.  James  Glasgow >  D.D. 


Cttotce  of  I3atiire, 

CXCIV. 

bird  in  the  bower, 
The  swell  of  the  sea, 
The  tint  of  the  flower, 
The  hum  of  the  bee, 
The  dew  as  it  glistens, 

The  rush  of  the  rain, 
To  man,  as  he  listens, 
Their  language  is  plain. 

The  eye  of  the  morning, 

All  sparkling  in  light ; 
The  high  clouds  adorning 

The  zenith  with  white, 
The  broad  sun  descending 

In  gold  to  the  west, 
The  sable  night  lending 

A  season  of  rest, 

The  stars  in  their  courses, 
That  stud  the  blue  sky, 

By  no  mighty  forces 
Arrested  on  high ; 


312  Sacred  Lyrics. 

The  hoarse  thunder  growling, 
The  flash  from  the  cloud, 

The  hurricane  howling, 
Terrific  and  loud ; 


All  life,  and  all  motion, 

The  beasts  in  their  lair, 
The  tribes  of  the  ocean, 

The  tenants  of  air, 
All  portions  of  nature, 

All  organized  forms, 
From  man,  the  chief  creature, 

To  reptiles  and  worms, 

All  speak  of  creation, 

All  pencil  His  name, 
From  whom  their  formation 

And  destiny  came. 
Almighty  ! — all  knowing 

In  thought  and  design, 
Beneficent — showing 

His  glory  divine. 

*  Rev.  James  Glasgow,  D.D. 


TBeiietier  to  fri 


cxcv. 

/jglVE  thyself  to  Jesus'  hand, 
^^     Go  to  join  the  ransom'd  band 
Of  the  just,  made  perfect  all  — 
Of  all  tribes  —  of  great  and  small. 
Go  to  meet  those  loving  friends, 
Who  to  earth's  remotest  ends 
Were  removed,  amid  the  strife 
And  the  troubles  of  this  life, 


Sacred  Lyrics.  313 


Oh,  the  joy  that  on  thee  waits  ! 
Oh,  the  welcome  at  heaven's  gates  ! 
Oh,  the  recognition  then 
Of  renowned  and  holy  men, 
Who,  in  place  and  time  afar, 
Waged  Messiah's  holy  war  ! 
And  of  dear  ones  little  known, 
Save  to  Christ  the  Lord  alone  ! 


While  thou  mixest  with  the  blest, 
Let  the  body  calmly  rest, 
Safe  in  Jesus  let  it  sleep, 
All  in  silence,  long  and  deep, 
Till  the  great  expected  day, 
When  the  heaven  shall  pass  away, 
And  the  trump  shall  silence  break, 
Then  the  body  shall  awake. 


Then  the  body  and  the  soul, 
Making,  with  thyself,  the  whole, 
Sanctified  by  grace  divine, 
Fitted  high  in  light  to  shine, 
Shall,  at  last,  at  Christ's  right  hand, 
Re-united,  take  their  stand  : 
Death  has  now  a  sting  no  more, 
Terrors  of  the  grave  are  o'er. 


Rev.  James  Glasgow,  D.D. 


314  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Cfje  JDotonfall  of 


CXCVI. 

OW  great  the  loss,  how  foul  the  stain, 

When  Israel  saw  her  armies  fled, 
Her  monarch,  proud,  in  battle  slain, 
Her  warrior-sons  on  Gilboa  dead  ! 

Stilled  was  the  voice  that  urged  them  on, 

To  meet,  undaunted,  every  foe  ; 
The  hand  that  led  them  —  lifeless,  gone  — 

Their  martial  spirit  dulled  and  low. 

David  for  God's  anointed  wept, 
Though  royal  honours  lay  in  store, 

Though  persecution,  vanquished,  slept, 
And  Saul's  fell  spear  was  aimed  no  more. 

No  song  of  triumph  he  ordained, 

No  mirth,  nor  ill-timed  revelry, 
His  hands  no  bleeding  victim  stained, 

No  useless  pomp  regaled  his  eye  ; 

But  much  he  grieved  that  men  should  say, 

What  Israel  lost,  Philistia  won  ; 
Philistia  !  whose  unholy  sway 

Defiled  the  ground  she  trampled  on. 

Not  e'en  the  thought  could  soothe  his  breast, 
That  now  his  throneward  path  was  clear  ; 

For  tenfold  grief  his  heart  oppressed  — 
No  more  survived  his  friend  most  dear. 

Yes,  Jonathan  !  though  Pagan  wrath 
Had  torn  thy  body  from  his  sight, 

Not  all  the  conquering  hosts  of  Gath 
His  soul  from  thine  could  disunite. 

*  Lord  O'Neill  (Rev). 


Sacred  Lyrics.  315 


nines  toritten  During: 

CXCVII. 


THOU,  whose  all-enlivening  ray, 
Can  turn  my  darkness  into  day, 
Disperse,  great  God,  my  mental  gloom, 
And  with  Thyself  my  soul  illume. 
Though  gathering  sorrows  swell  my  breast, 
Speak  but  the  word,  and  peace  and  rest 
Shall  set  my  troubled  spirit  free, 
In  sweet  communion,  Lord,  with  Thee. 
What,  though  in  this  heart-searching  hour, 
Thou  dimm'st  my  intellectual  power  ; 
The  gracious  discipline  I  own, 
And  wisdom  seek  at  Thy  blest  throne. 
Let  love  divine  my  bosom  sway, 
And  then  my  darkness  will  be  day  ; 
No  doubt,  no  fears  shall  heave  my  breast, 
In  God  Himself  will  be  my  rest  ! 

Bishop  Jcbb. 


<$lorg  tfmt 


CXCVIII. 

from  the  mount  he  cometh 
^"^     The  Prophet  rapt  in  awe  ! 
And  in  his  hands  he  beareth 

The  stern  and  righteous  law ; 
His  face  reflects  the  shining 

Of  glory,  lately  seen  ; 
And  Israel  looks — with  terror  ! 

And  needs  a  veil  between. 


316  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Up  into  heaven  he  gazeth — 

The  Martyr — soon  to  go  ! 
Calm  as  the  blest  evangel 

He  preached  to  men  below — 
"  /  see  the  heavens  opened, 

And  Jesus  standing  there  !  " 
His  eyes  have  caught  the  radiance, 

His  face  is  angel  fair  ! 


The  light  from  Sinai  paleth, 

And  Death  must  quench  its  ray ; 
And  so  it  fadeth — fadeth — 

And  vanisheth  away  : 
"  The  glory  that  excelleth  " 

To  Life  unbars  the  way ; 
And  so  it  ever  shineth 

On  to  the  perfect  day  ! 

Thus  Moses,  veil'd,  remaineth 

Here  in  a  world  of  strife  ; 
Thus  Stephen,  bright,  ascendeth 

To  bliss  of  holiest  life  ! 
That  hath  but  transient  glimpses 

Of  glory  seen  before  : 
This  gazeth  on  the  Saviour 

For  ever — evermore  ! 


"  Thou  canst  not  see  My  glory , 

Thou  canst  not  see  and  live  / ' 
A  sight  of  heaven  forsaken 

Is  all  the  Law  can  give. 
JESU  !  Thou  art  the  Godhead 

Incarnate  to  our  view, 
The  sight  of  Thee,  life-giving, 

Alone  makes  holy,  too  ! 


*  Very  Rev.   W.  Pakenham  Walsh 
(Dean  of  Cashel). 


Sacred  Lyrics.  317 

Cfje  lortT0  Dap. 

CXCIX. 

HY  Temple,  Lord  !  it  nobly  stands, 

Thy  earthly  Temple  made  with  hands ; 
Firmly  it  stands,  and,  raised  on  high, 
Points  to  the  Church  above  the  sky. 
The  Church  of  Heaven  and  Church  of  Earth 
Resound  to-day  with  sacred  mirth  ; 
While  saints  below  and  saints  above 
Are  one  in  praise,  and  joy,  and  love. 

Be  present,  gracious  Lord,  when  now, 
Low  at  Thy  mercy  seat,  we  bow ; 
Be  present  with  the  kneeling  throng, 
At  matins  and  at  even-song ; 
Let  tributes  of  Thy  people's  love 
Find  echoes  in  the  Church  above  ; 
And  one  triumphant  choral  sound 
Mingled  from  earth  and  heaven  rebound. 

Be  present  with  the  pining  poor. 

When  Death  knocks  at  the  sick  man's  door, 

Where  sorrow  fills  lone  eyes  with  tears, 

Where  mourning  widowhood  appears ; 

Be  present  at  each  sufferer's  side, 

And  let  the  faint  "  the  spoil  divide." 

Be  present  over  sea  and  land 

With  all  who  bow  at  Thy  command ; 

Let  angels  bear  to  heaven  on  high 

The  tale  of  every  contrite  sigh  : 

Let  pastors  preach  with  heaven  sent  power, 

While  round  descends  the  gracious  shower. 

Seal  up  Thy  work,  Thy  coming  show, 

To  all  Thy  lingering  Church  below. 

Rev.  Thomas  Drew,  D.D. 


318  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Communion. 


cc. 

m  ANQUET  of  Love  !  O  Feast  Divine  ! 
*^     I  bow  before  the  sacred  shrine, 
The  feast  to  join,  the  Christ  to  meet, 
The  Lord  of  life  and  love  to  greet  : 
The  hour  is  come,  the  Church's  Head 
Himself  reveals  in  breaking  bread. 
That  body,  broken  for  my  sake, 
In  grateful  memory  I  take, 
The  chalice  pours  its  mystic  stream, 
And  bleeding  mercy  is  its  theme  : 
Blessings  attend  the  pastor's  voice, 
And  bid  my  ransom'd  soul  rejoice. 
Jesus,  my  King  !  may  I  proclaim 
The  glory  of  Thy  beauteous  name  ; 
Here  in  these  rites,  all  pure  and  free, 
By  Thy  command,  remember  Thee  : 
O  haste  the  day,  when  heaven's  own  feast 
Shall  see  me  its  eternal  guest. 

Rev.  Thomas  Drew,  D.D. 


life's  last  J£>our, 

CCI. 

A.HALL  I  live  till  I  am  old, 
w     Till  my  heart  is  dull  and  cold  ? 
Shall  I  with  progressive  wear, 
All  life's  ills  reluctant  bear  ; 
See  no  tender  eye  watch  o'er  me, 
All  I  loved  in  death  before  me  ? 
Shall  I  die  with  years  in  prime, 
Unfulfilled  the  Psalmist's  time  ? 


Sacred  Lyrics  319 

Shall  I  leave  this  sunshine  soon, 

In  the  midst  of  manhood's  noon — 

Friendship,  feasting,  music  o'er, 

All  I  cherished  seen  no  more  ? 

Shall  I  feel  a  pang — a  chill — 

Brain  on  fire — a  rapid  rill 

From  cloven  heart — a  stifled  breath — 

Tell  me,  ye  wise,  will  this  be  death  ? 

Tell  me,  what  I  long  to  know, 

Presage  of  the  fatal  blow  ? 

Alas  !  ye  cannot  tell  the  hour, 

The  way,  the  work  of  death's  dark  power ; 

Then,  let  me  bow  beneath  the  sway 

Of  Him  whom  earth  and  Heaven  obey. 

Ask  Him,  my  soul,  to  seek  and  save, 

And  thus,  unfearing,  meet  the  grave. 

Jesu,  Lord  !  be  present  Thou 

When  Death's  cold  dews  surround  my  brow ; 

Let  promised  rod  and  staff  be  there, 

And  faith  and  hope,  and  love  and  prayer ; 

Visit  my  soul  with  glad  surprise, 

And  glad  with  heaven  my  longing  eyes. 

Rev.  Thomas  Drew,  D.D. 


jFrom  t&e  Cross. 

ecu. 

fl7I|OMAN,  behold  thy  son  : 

^^•*     Behold  thy  mother."     From  that  hour 

Drawn  by  this  word  of  power, 
Both  hearts  were  joined  in  one, 

He  took  her  to  his  home 

To  guard  with  filial  reverence. 
The  proudest  palace-dome 

Had  vainly  lured  her  thence. 


326  Sacred  Lyrics. 

The  mother  of  his  Lord, 

Committed  to  him  from  the  Cross  ! 

All  earthly  joys  were  dross 
Beside  this  rich  reward. 


A  sword  pierced  her  own  heart, 
Dying  almost  in  Jesus'  death, 

But  balm  to  heal  impart 
The  tender  words  He  saith  : 


That  in  His  torment  there — 
A  dying  Saviour  sin-opprest — 
He  yet  for  her  possest 

A  dying  son's  fond  care. 


By  such  peculiar  meed 

The  lov'd  apostle's  place  approved, 
He  feels  himself  indeed 

His  Saviour's  own  beloved. 


Therefore,  of  love  he  tells, 

Therefore,  in  every  line  he  wrote, 
Entranced  our  spirits  note, 

On  love — on  love — he  dwells. 


He  wrote,  as  write  he  must, 

Whom  Christ  the  Lord  had  loved  on  earth, 
And  who  has  had  in  trust 

Christ's  mother  at  his  hearth. 


O  Thou  who  seest  in  each 

That  fain  would  do  Thy  Father's  will, 

A  deeper  kindred  still 
Than  aught  of  flesh  can  reach. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  321 


May  we  in  spirit,  knit 

By  love  and  faith  to  Thee  belong : 
Then  hear  Thy  dying  lips  commit 

Thy  feeble  to  Thy  strong. 

So,  as  we  journey  on, 

Linked  one  to  other,  be  we  found 
By  such  sweet  tie  as  bound 

The  Blessed  Virgin  and  Saint  John. 


*  Rev.J.  H.  Martin,  LL.D. 


Contierteti, 

CCIII. 

were  talents  many  a  one 
Committed  to  his  heedless  trust : 
He  knew  God's  will,  and  spurned  it  known, 
Servant  to  mammon  and  to  lust. 
His  trespass  to  a  mountain  grown 
Flung  death's  black  shadow  o'er  the  sward  ; 
He,  who  cherished  self  alone, 
Stood  self-condemned  and  self-abhorred. 
Then,  in  the  dust  repentant  laid, 
He  heard,  and  he  believed  the  word — 
"  For  that  thou  never  couldst  have  paid, 
Take  the  free  quittance  of  thy  Lord." 

And  now,  forgiven  all  that  debt, 
He  loveth  much  and  hateth  sin, 
And  from  his  shorten'd  span  is  set 
The  fruit  of  wasted  years  to  win. 
Can  earth  nor  hell  his  purpose  let 
All  things  to  do  and  to  endure, 
"  Ennobled  by  a  vast  regret, 
And  by  contrition  sealed  thrice  sure." 
v 


322  Sacred  Lyrics. 

For  made  in  Christ  from  weakness  strong, 
And  from  impurity  made  pure, 
Hell  has  not  left  the  power  to  wrong, 
And  earth  has  lost  the  charm  to  lure. 


Needs  hard-taxed  strength  to  be  restored  ? 

Well  has  he  learned  the  how  and  where  : 

The  magic  of  the  written  word 

He  knows,  the  secret  power  of  prayer. 

Kneeling  before  the  holy  board, 

He  breathes  the  Church's  purest  breath, 

Feeding  upon  the  risen  Lord, 

And  pleading  the  atoning  death  : 

Deep  heart-confession  opes  the  heart 

For  all  that  absolution  saith  : 

So  goes  he  forth  to  do  his  part, 

By  faithful  works  perfecting  faith. 

*  Rev.J.  H.  Martin,  LL.D. 


Cf)e 


CCIV. 


,LEST  were  the  chosen  three 

Who  stood  with  Thee, 
Jesus,  Thou  Son  of  God, 
Once,  on  the  Holy  Mount, 

Whose  height  we  count 
Nearest  to  heaven  of  any  earthly  sod  — 

Blest  that  they  erst  should  be 

Summoned  by  Thee 
To  meet  hell's  rudest  shock, 
Each  having  strength  from  heaven 

WTith  his  name  given, 
Two,  as  of  thunder  born  ;  one,  as  a  rock. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  323 


But  here,  more  brightly  blest 

Than  all  the  rest 
Of  men,  for  ever,  are  ; 
To  see  the  Lamb  who  died, 

The  Crucified, 
In  heaven's  high  glory,  yet  without  a  scar. 


To  pass  within  the  cloud 

That  seems  to  shroud 
The  footstool  of  God's  throne, 
And  there  to  hear  His  word 
Which  none  else  heard, 
Save  Moses  and  Elias — they  alone  : 


"  This  is  My  loved  Son, 

My  Holy  One, 

Well  pleasing  ;  hear  ye  Him  ;" 
While  streamed  from  Jesu's  face 

Such  rays  of  grace 
That,  in  their  sacred  light,  earth's  sun  grew  dim, 


Nor  changed  His  face  alone, 

But  glory  shone 

E'en  through  the  robes  he  ware  ; 
No  earthly  fuller's  white, 

But  heaven's  bright 
Radiance  of  holiness,  exceeding  fair. 


So  make  us,  Lord,  to  shine 

With  light  divine, 
Treading  where  Thou  hast  trod, 
Till,  having  run  our  race, 

We  see  Thy  face 
Transfigured  to  the  Image  of  our  God. 

*  Rev.  J.  A.  Stewart,  A.M. 

V    2 


324  Sacred  Lyrics. 

i)  toell  fot 

ccv. 

£fT\  WELL  for  him  who  lives  at  ease 
**^     With  garnered  gold  in  wide  domain  ! 
Nor  heeds  the  splashing  of  the  rain, 
The  crashing  down  of  forest  trees. 

O  well  for  him  who  ne'er  hath  known 
The  travail  of  the  hungry  years, 
A  father  grey  with  grief  and  tears, 

A  mother  weeping  all  alone. 

But  well  for  him  whose  feet  have  trod 
The  weary  road  of  earthly  strife, 
Yet  from  the  sorrows  of  his  life 

Builds  ladders  to  be  nearer  God. 

*   Oscar  Wilde. 


CCVI. 

STOOD  by  the  unvintageable  sea 

Till  the  wet  waves  drenched  face  and  hair  with  spray  ; 

The  long  red  fires  of  the  dying  day 
Glowed  in  the  west :  the  wind  sang  drearily, 
And  to  the  land  the  clamouring  gulls  did  flee  : 

Alas  !  I  cried,  my  hands  are  weak  with  pain, 

How  shall  I  gather  fruit,  or  golden  grain 
From  these  waste  fields  that  travail  ceaselessly  ? 

My  nets  gaped  wide  with  many  a  break  and  flaw, 

Nathless  I  threw  them  as  my  final  cast 

Into  the  sea  :  and  waited  for  the  end. 
When  lo  !  a  sudden  brightness  !  and  I  saw 

Christ  walking  on  the  waters  :  fear  was  past ; 

I  knew  that  I  had  found  my  perfect  friend. 

*  Oscar  Wilde. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  325 

Onto  one 

CCVII. 

fJTHOU  knowest  all  : — I  seek  in  vain 
^^   What  lands  to  till  or  sow  with  seed ; 

The  land  is  black  with  briar  and  weed, 
Nor  cares  for  falling  tears  or  rain. 

Thou  knowest  all : — I  sit  and  wait 

With  blinded  eyes  and  hands  that  fail, 
Till  the  last  lifting  of  the  veil 

That  hangs  before  God's  holy  gate. 

Thou  knowest  all : — I  cannot  see  ; 

I  trust  I  shall  not  live  in  vain : 

I  know  that  we  shall  meet  again 
In  some  divine  eternity. 

*  Oscar  Wilde. 


,  Come  not  tfws* 

CCVIII. 

|17)AY,  come  not  thus  :  white  lilies  in  the  spring, 
-N*  Sad  olive-gardens,  or  the  holy  dove, 

Teach  me  more  clearly  of  Thy  life  and  love 
Than  terrors  of  red  flame  and  thundering  ; 
Wind-shaken  reeds  dear  memories  of  Thee  bring ; 
A  bird  at  evening  flying  to  its  nest 
Tells  me  of  One  who  had  no  place  of  rest ; 
I  think  it  is  of  Thee  the  sparrows  sing. 

Come  rather  on  some  autumn  afternoon, 

When  red  and  brown  are  burnished  on  the  leaves, 
And  the  fields  echo  to  the  reapers'  song. 
Come  when  the  splendid  fullness  of  the  moon 

Looks  down  upon  the  rows  of  golden  sheaves, 
And  reap  Thy  harvest  :  we  have  waited  long. 

*  Oscar  Wilde. 


326  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Co  an  afflicteu  JFrienlx 

CCIX. 

SUFFERING  saint !  and  too  severely  tried, 

But  that  thy  God,  unseen,  is  at  thy  side  ; 
And  even  when  most  His  comforts  seem  to  cease, 
Still  leads  thee  onward  to  a  heavenly  peace : 
Refines  through  pain,  from  earth's  allurements  wins, 
Breathes  holy  joy,  in  guise  of  grief  for  sins  ! 
Thyself  to  blame,  by  Him  acquitted  be, 
Such  is  the  present  lot  assigned  to  thee. 
But  thou  shalt  see  thy  Saviour  face  to  face, 
The  dark  vale  issuing  in  a  sunny  place ; 
Feel  with  surprise  how  His  supporting  arm 
Hath  brought  thee  through  that  valley  safe  from  harm  : 
Own  the  past  glooms  but  blessings  in  disguise, 
And  that  He  viewed  thee  still  with  loving  eyes. 
Forsaken  thou  may'st  seem,  but  He  is  near, 
Hears  every  prayer,  and  numbers  every  tear ; 
And  knowing,  feeling  our  infirmity, 
Forgets  not  that  dread  moment  on  the  Tree, 
When  from  His  own  humanity,  awhile, 
Appeared  to  turn  away  His  father's  smile  : 
And  his  strong  cry  of  agony  went  up, 
As  that  desertion  seemed  to  brim  His  cup  ! 

Triumphant  now  o'er  sorrows  every  wave, 
And  able  to  the  uttermost  to  save, 
He  yet  is  touched  by  sufferings  once  His  own, 
Nor  leaves  His  blood-bought  friends  unheard  to  groan. 
A  merciful  High-Priest,  and  faithful,  now 
In  holiest  place  presents  each  troubled  vow, 
And  aids  the  comforter,  by  promise  given, 
To  intercede  ineffably  in  heaven. 

*  Sir  W.  R.  Hamilton. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  327 

Praper  for  Calm, 

ccx. 

the  disciples  saw  each  surging  hill 
Of  waters  threaten  that  frail  bark,  aboard 
Of  which,  rude-pillowed,  lay  their  sleeping  Lord, 
They  roused  Him,  with  affrighted  prayers  ; — and  still, 
He,  only  He,  can  calm  the  mind  at  will ; 
His  sovereign  Word  alone  with  power  reprove 
Ambition's  tumult,  the  unrest  of  love, 
And  to  the  heart's  wild  waves  say,  Peace,  be  still. 
If  to  ourselves,  then,  Christ  now  sleeping  seem, 
If,  in  our  hearts  we  feel  those  billows  rave, 
Let  us,  too,  start  to  prayer  from  panic's  dream, 
And  from  a  risen  Saviour  mercy  crave  : 
Thy  voice,  O  Lord,  can  still  give  calm  supreme — 
Without  Thee  we  are  lost — but  Thou  canst  save. 

*  Sir  W.  R.  Hamilton. 


D  TBrooDing  Spirit. 

CCXI. 

BROODING  Spirit  of  Wisdom  and  of  Love, 
Whose  mighty  wings  even  now  o'ershadow  me, 
Absorb  me  in  thine  own  immensity, 
And  raise  me  far  my  finite  self  above  ! 
Purge  vanity  away,  and  the  weak  care 
That  name  or  fame  of  me  may  widely  spread  : 
And  the  deep  wish  keep  burning  in  their  stead, 
Thy  blissful  influence  afar  to  bear, 
Or  see  it  borne  !     Let  no  desire  of  ease, 
No  lack  of  courage,  faith,  or  love,  delay 
Mine  own  steps  on  that  high  thought-paven  way, 
In  which  my  soul  her  dear  commission  sees  : 
Yet  with  an  equal  joy  let  me  behold 
Thy  chariot  o'er  that  way  by  others  rolled  ! 

*  Sir  W.  R.  Hamilton. 


328  Sacred  Lyrics. 

true,  31  tetie  Dutfelt. 


ccxn. 

'flT  IS  true,  I  have  outfelt,  and  have  out-thought, 
^^     If  my  own  feelings  and  own  thoughts  I  know, 
That  ardour  for  renown,  which,  long  ago, 
So  passionately  in  my  young  heart  wrought, 
That  all  my  being,  with  rich  longing  fraught, 
Burned,  keenly  fragrant,  in  one  precious  glow. 
Now  would  I  only  bend  my  spirit-bow 
For  the  high  mark  beheld  by  lonely  Thought 
Heaven-eyed,  and  careless  of  the  world's  applause. 
Yet  dear  the  memory  and  fresh  the  might 
Of  fanes,  where,  to  the  aw'd  enthusiast's  sight, 
A  brother's  name  from  heaven  a  glory  draws. 
A  holy  hope,  and  powerful  still  it  were, 
That  I  in  such  a  fane  should  minister. 

*  Sir  W.  R.  Hamilton. 


gtoert)  ©ongs  in  t&e  JSig&t. 

CCXIII. 

7T7TJHEN  sorrow  appears,  and  the  bosom  despaireth 
^^^     Of  ever  again  swelling  joyous  and  glad, 
Oh  !  why  not  remember  that  One  who  declareth 

He  resteth  the  weary — consoleth  the  sad. 
When  the  harp  of  the  spirit  lies  hopelessly  shattered— 

Its  chord  hanging  broken,  its  melody  gone — 
When  of  all  the  light  strains  with  which  early  youth 
flattered, 

There  lingers  around  us  not  even  a  tone ; 
'Tis  then  that  the  High  and  the  Holy  One  sendeth 

To  string  it  anew  with  hope  truthful  and  bright, 
Which  every  sad  wail  of  the  sorrowful  blendeth 

With  strains  of  sweet  comfort — "  with  songs  in  the 
night." 


Sacred  Lyrics.  329 

"  Songs  in  the  night,"  when  the  broken  head  burneth, 

Recalling  the  memories  of  bitterness  past ; 
"  Songs  in  the  night,"  for  the  mother  who  mourneth 

Her  young  bud  of  promise — her  dearest — her  last. 
"  Songs  in  the  night,"  for  a  lonely  one  fated 

To  weep  o'er  the  hearth  of  a  desolate  home ; 
Songs  for  the  spurned,  for  the  hardly  entreated — 

The  driven  unpitied  unfriended  to  roam. 
Songs,  o'er  the  heart  of  the  sorrowful  throwing 

A  brightness  that  cometh  like  light  from  above, 
That  hymneth  of  regions  where  tears  shall  cease  flowing, 

Dried  once  and  for  ever  by  mercy  and  love. 

*  Rev.  Abraham  Oulton. 


Cbe  l£>em  of  $>&  Garment, 

CCXIV. 

GOD  of  Calvary  and  Bethlehem, 

Thou  who  didst  suffer  rather  than  condemn, 
Grant  me  to  touch  Thy  garment's  healing  hem. 

Thou  trailest  Thy  fair  robes  of  seamless  light 
Through  this  dark  world  of  misery  and  night ; 
Its  blackness  cannot  mar  Thy  spotless  white. 

Thou  dost  not,  Master,  as  we  pass  Thee  by, 

Draw  in  Thy  robes  least  we  should  come  too  nigh ; 

We  see  no  scorn  in  Thine  all-sinless  eye. 


There  is  no  shrinking  even  from  our  touch, 

Thy  tenderness  to  us  is  ever  such, 

It  can  endure  and  suffer  from  us  much. 

Elizabeth  Hamilton. 


330  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Repentance 


ccxv. 


Truth's  dread  light  around  us  flashes, 
And  when  within  our  conscience  lashes, 
We  sit  in  sack-cloth  and  in  ashes — 


When  we  begin  ourselves  to  know, 
Had  we  no  Christ  to  whom  to  go  ; 
Oh  !  dark  unutterable  woe  ! 


Were  there  no  Lamb  amidst  the  throne ; 
It  were  for  sinless  knees  alone, 
At  sight  of  it  we  should  but  groan. 

The  awful  dazzling  of  its  white 

To  us  were  blackness  dark  as  night, 

But  Christ  is  there  to  shade  the  light. 

Our  eyes  with  tears  for  sin  are  dim, 
But  when  we  lift  them  unto  Him, 
They  lose  their  sorrow's  darkening  rim. 

Elizabeth  Hamilton. 


CCXVI. 


TO  a  garden,  at  the  dawn  of  day, 

I  hastened.     Flowers  bright  with  dewy  bloom 
Were  round  me.     All  within  was  fresh  and  gay. 
\\  hen  suddenly  I  came  upon  a  tomb, 
And,  shuddering,  turned  away. 
'  Must  man  be  ever  minded  of  his  doom, 
E'en  in  his  hours  of  mirth  ? 


Sacred  Lyrics.  331 

Garden,  thou  art  a  fitting  type  of  earth, 

Whose  flowers  hide  decay — 
Farewell  to  thee,  farewell !" 
But  in  the  evening  some  mysterious  spell 
Drew  me  unto  that  garden-tomb  again, 

Just  ere  the  sun  had  set. 
I  found  a  great  stone  rolled  against  the  door ; 
The  sepulchre  was  empty  now  no  more. 
A  little  group  of  mourners,  too,  I  met, 

As  they  departed 

Broken-hearted ; 

While  such  a  scent  of  spices  filled  the  air 
That  much  I  marvelled  who  was  sleeping  there. 

Just  then  I  found 
A  superscription  fallen  on  the  ground ; 

And  read,  with  deep  surprise, 
The  name  and  royal  title  of  a  king, 
"  A  monarch"  buried  in  such  lowly  guise ; 

But  all  surmise 

To  me  was  vain. 
Startled  by  flutter  of  a  wild  bird's  wing, 

Which,  in  the  awful  solemness  around, 
Seemed  a  mysterious  and  ghostly  thing, 

I  lifted  up  mine  eyes, 

And  lo  !  their  glance  fell  on 
A  man  unaged,  but  of  most  reverend  mien  ; 
A  face  more  mournful  I  had  never  seen. 

I  ventured  to  draw  near — • 
"  Sir,"  I  implored,  "  who  is  the  sleeper  here  ?" 
The  superscription  in  his  hand  I  placed ; 
With  awe  I  watched  him  while  the  words  he  traced. 
"  It  is  their  King,  whom  they  have  crucified," 
With  grief  and  indignation  he  replied. 
Then,  adding  gently  that  his  name  was  John, 
On  a  low  root  all  overgrown  with  moss 
He  made  me  rest  beside  him  while  he  told 
The  wondrous  story  of  Christ's  life  on  earth, 
From  the  great  glories  of  His  birth 
Unto  the  latest  anguish  of  the  Cross, 
To  which  He  had  been  sold. 


332  Sacred  Lyrics. 

He  talked  until  the  moonbeams  fell 
Around  us.     When  in  a  pause 
I  watched  a  muffled  mourner  sadly  creep 
Up  through  the  olives.     "See!  one  comes  to  weep," 
I  murmured  softly.     "  Yea,  and  he  hath  cause," 
He  answered.     And  a  bitter  wailing  cry 
Upon  the  air  arose, 

Alas  !  and  did  I  on  this  day  deny 

My  Lord  about  to  die  ; 
To  Thee  more  cruel  even  than  Thy  foes." 
John  sadly  told  me  then,  "  I  now  must  hasten 
To  comfort  her  whom  God  doth  sorely  chasten, 
To  whom  this  day  Christ  gave  me  as  a  son 

His  mother ; 
But  how  shall  I  replace  the  Holy  One  !" 

I  cried,  "  One  moment  stay  : 
Methinks  this  shepherd  of  the  sheep, 

To  whom  death  did  obey, 
Is  far  too  great  for  death  to  keep. 
Thou  hast  three  resurrections  seen 

Where  Christ  hath  been, 
And  with  the  morn  thou  shalt  behold  another 
Greater  than  that  of  Lazarus,  Mary's  brother." 

Elizabeth  Hamilton. 


Caltmrp, 

CCXVII. 

E A,  all  the  paths  of  earth  lead  up  to  thee, 

O  Calvary  ! 
The  sad,  the  pleasant, 

Bond  and  free, 
The  prince  and  peasant, 

As  equals  meet  around  thy  tree. 
The  Past  and  Present 
Merged  into  one  are  found 
Upon  thy  holy  ground. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  333 

Darkness  and  light 

Are  on  Christ's  left  and  on  His  right, 

But  we  ourselves  must  place 

In  judgment  or  in  grace. 

We  may  in  darkness  stand, 

Or  kneel  in  light  at  His  right  hand. 

Unheeding  of  His  wistful  cry, 

We  cannot  Christ  pass  by  ; 

We  must  "  Hosanna"  sing,  or  "  Crucify ;" 

Confess  Him  or  deny. 

Elizabeth  Hamilton. 


€&e  ascension* 


CCXVIII. 

HE  crimson  petals  of  the  withering  day 

Lay  scattered  on  a  bank  of  evening  cloud, 
Came  twinkling  forth  upon  their  glittering  way 

The  bright  forerunners  of  the  starry  crowd. 
The  hazy  calmness  of  the  eventide 

Fell  softly  over  mountain,  stream,  and  hill ; 
Time's  greatest  day  in  all  its  sunny  pride 

Was  gathered  to  its  fathers  calm  and  still. 
That  day  to  be  remembered  evermore, 
When  ascending  Lord  the  heavens  bowed. 

O  Risen  Crucified  ! 
Straight  from  Thy  Cross  unto  Thy  Throne  we  soar. 

Elizabeth  Hamilton. 


334  Sacred  Lyrics. 


Comfort. 

CCXIX. 

4tOR  every  sorrow  here  on  earth 
J'  There  is  sympathy  in  heaven, 
For  every  wound  God's  love  inflicts 

A  healing  balm  is  given. 
It  is  our  Father's  hand  that  gives, 

The  same  hand  takes  away ; 
And  we  cannot  murmur  or  complain 

While  a  Father  leads  the  way. 
It  was  His  love  that  chose  our  lot — 

It  must  be  good  and  right, 
For  is  it  not  our  Father's  glance 

That  makes  the  dark  path  bright, 
And  gently  leads  His  wandering  child 

Out  of  the  realm  of  night  ! 

Julia  G.  M.  Kirchhoffer. 


ccxx. 

IS  impress  was  stamped  on  their  tone  and  voice, 

As  the  godlike  words  poured  forth  ; 
His  mark  in  their  foreheads  shewed,  clear  and  bright 

The  token  of  noble  birth. 
They  were  not  the  sons  of  an  ancient  race, 

And  no  royal  blood  had  they, 
But  children  of  Him,  who,  as  Lord  and  King, 
The  monarchs  of  earth  obey. 

And  their  enemies  marvelled  at  their  mien, 

For  little  they  thought  or  guessed 
They  had  touched  the  key-note  of  all ;  it  lay 

In  two  little  words  compressed — 


Sacred  Lyrics.  335 

"  With  Jesus."     Ah  !  there  was  the  mystery  solved. 
They  had  heard  Him  as  He  taught ; 
With  Him  they  had  suffered,  and  watched,  and  prayed, 
And  loved  Him  in  deed  and  thought. 

Oh  !  would  that  on  earth,  'mid  the  children  of  men, 

Who  live  but  for  sordid  gain, 
For  honour,  or  wealth,  or  wordly  goods, 

Or  pleasure  that  turns  to  pain, 
The  lustre  of  Christians  shone  pure  and  bright, 

That  all  men  might  mark  it  well, 
The  signet  of  those  who  are  sons  of  God, 

Of  those  who  "  with  Jesus"  dwell  !. 

Julia  G.  M.  Kirchhoffer. 


Cast  tf)g  iBteafl  upon  t&e 

CCXXI. 

/If  AST  thy  bread  upon  the  waters ; 
^*     They  will  bear  it  far  away 
On  their  restless  tossing  bosom, 

On  the  white  and  crested  spray, 
Through  the  midnight  waste  of  darkness. 

Through  the  scorching  heat  of  day. 

In  the  morning  waken  early, 
Scatter  far  and  wide  the  seed — 

On  the  hard  and  trodden  pathway, 
In  the  daisy-jewelled  mead ; 

Heed  not  mocking  eyes  of  wonder, 
God  will  mark  the  silent  deed. 

Drop  a  word  of  tender  comfort, 
Solemn  warning,  counsel  wise, 

Like  a  little  wedge  inserted, 
Well  content  in  such  disguise  ; 

Fastened  with  a  prayer  and  promise, 
Noted  by  immortal  eyes. 


336  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Rosy  morns  arise  in  glory, 
Golden  sunsets  fade  away, 

Spring  and  autumn,  summer,  winter, 
Each  is  passing  on  its  way, 

And  the  world  is  growing  older 
With  each  quick  succeeding  day. 


Age  and  care  have  left  their  traces 
On  thy  brow  in  furrows  deep, 

And  thy  eye  is  growing  misty, 
And  thou  canst  no  longer  weep, 

And  the  past  is  fading  from  thee, 
And  remembrance  sinks  to  sleep  ; 


But  the  bread  cast  forth  in  weakness, 
Where  the  surging  billows  rove, 

And  the  long-forgotten  seedling, 
And  the  little  word  of  love, — 

All  have  sped  their  silent  errand ; 
Thou  wilt  find  them  all  above. 


Julia  G.  M.  Kirchhoffcr. 


Silence. 

CCXXII. 

9T7T1HO  hath  not  felt  the  sacred  hours 
*****     Of  stillness  and  of  calm, 
When  silence  is  more  musical 

Than  noblest  chant  or  psalm  ; 
When  words  are  like  the  rippling  wave 

That  dies  upon  the  shore, 
While  the  great  ocean-depth  of  soul 

Lies  voiceless  evermore : 


Sacred  Lyrics.  337 

When  a  spirit  loved  and  loving 

Hath  run  out  its  mortal  race, 
And  the  soul  in  radiance  rising 

Drops  its  mantle  on  the  face, 
When  a  gleam  of  heaven's  glory 

On  the  marble  brow  is  seen, 
All  is  solemn  hush  and  silence, 

Where  the  voice  of  God  hath  been  : 


When  the  gentle  moon,  arising 

From  the  dark  mysterious  sea, 
Shedding  o'er  its  troubled  waters 

Rays  of  peace  and  purity, — 
Casts  a  path  of  silver  glory, 

That  trembles  in  the  wind, 
As  though  a  angel-host  had  passed, 

And  left  their  track  behind  : 


When  the  full-toned  organ  swelling, 

Poureth  forth  its  music  tide, 
Sweeping  past  the  clustered  pillars, 

Down  along  the  minster  wide, 
Thrilling  the  enraptur'd  listener 

With  a  sudden  rush  of  song, — 
Then  the  spirit,  crushed  with  beauty, 

Sinks  in  silence,  deep  and  long  : 

When  the  soul,  in  adoration, 

Prostrate  lies  before  the  throne, 
Words  may  never,  never  utter 

What  the  spirit  breathes  alone  ; 
Other  ear  may  never  listen, 

Other  eye  may  never  see  ; 
What  the  twillight  silence  covers, 

Lies  between  thy  God  and  thee  ! 

Julia  G.  M.  Kirchhoffer. 


33 S  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Prager, 

CCXXIII. 

RAYING  to  Thee,  our  wills  do  not  require 

That  Thou,  the  Lord  who  doest  all  things  well, 
Guiding  Thy  world  by  laws  immutable, 
Shouldst,  when  some  wishes  of  our  hearts'  suspire 
Thee-ward  in  faith,  grant  unto  the  desire 
Of  each  man  that  which  suits  his  own  small  need, 
(Lest  others'  wishes  fail  if  his  succeed, 
Being  contrary) :  but  lower  will  to  higher 
Can,  in  proud  meekness  and  strong  helplessness, 
Yield,  and  own  Law  as  girdling  Destiny. 
Thou,  setting  us  within  fixed  bounds,  didst  give 
Great  passive  strength  to  human  littleness — 
Only  we  cry  to  Thee  for  sympathy  ; 
If  Thou  wilt  love  us,  we  can  bear  and  live. 

*  Elizabeth  Dickinson  West. 


" 


let  J£>im  Deng  J£nm0elf:' 

CCXXIV. 


Christ  hath  spoken  to  a  human  heart, 
"  Take  up  thy  cross  —  and  follow  after  me, 
Renouncing  set/,"  (whether  its  will  be  free 
To  yield  up  things  possessed,  or,  harder  part, 
It  feel  it  hath  no  choice  but  take  pain's  smart 
All  unassuaged  by  sense  of  power  :)  then  he 
Whose  will  gives  gladly  or  bears  patiently 
Would  from  the  thought  of  restitution  start 
Grieved  and  indignant,  —  he  who  once  hath  poured 
His  free-will  or  his  patience  forth,  (and  meant 
His  gift  should  be  accepted,  though  in  worth 
It  were  so  poor)  —  he  would  not  see  restored 
Things  he  renounced  in  true  abandonment  ; 
Would  not  choose  heaven  to  give  joys  missed  on  earth. 

*  Elizabeth  Dickinson  West. 


Sacred  Lyrics.  339 

Cfce  amount  of  SDitoes* 

ccxxv. 

stand  ye  gazing,  men  of  Galilee, 
Into  the  deep  sky  arching  overhead, 
As  though  ye  waited  there  some  proof  to  see 
That  there  was  truth  in  words  the  Master  said  ? 

Hath  He  not  spoken  "  I  will  come  again," 
And  "  Where  I  am,  there  shall  ye  also  be  ?" 
Need  ye  some  vision  to  make  this  more  plain  ? 
Must  ye  have  sight  to  give  faith  certainty  ? 

Rather  go  back  to  your  Jerusalem, 
Unto  what  work  ye  find  before  you  set, 
These  things  are  safe,  with  all  the  love  of  them ; 
Need  ye  delay  upon  Mount  Olivet  ? 

Why  stand  ye  gazing,  men  of  Galilee, 
Ye  who  have  watched  God's  cloud  from  sight  receive 
Blessings  of  earth  ?     Yea,  though  most  good  they  be, 
Better  it  is  if  thus  ye  see  them  leave. 

Have  ye  not  faith  in  all  the  words  ye  said  ? 
Why  need  ye  linger  here  to  test  your  creed  ? 
Doubt  ye  at  all  the  "  rising  of  the  dead  "- 
Or  that  its  First-fruits,  Christ,  is  risen  indeed  ? 

Unto  your  life's  Jerusalem  return 

Gladly,  for  if  ye  take  "great  joy  "  with  you, 

Joy  of  a  confidence  most  calm  and  stern, 

Old  ways  and  common  will  seem  high  and  new. 

*  Elizabeth  Dickinson  West 

W    2 


340  Sacred  Lyrics. 


a  Ooice  from 

CCXXVI. 


JflJOICE  of  Jesus—  calling,  calling- 
***     "  I  have  died  for  thee, 
Earth  is  dark,  and  night  is  falling, 
Come,  sad  soul,  to  Me. 


"  Why,  O  child  of  tears  and  weeping, 

Dost  thou  still  remain 
In  the  chill  of  bondage  sleeping, 

Slave  to  sin  and  pain  ? 


I  have  conquered  fear  and  sorrow, 

Peace  is  mine  to  give, 
Seek  with  Me  a  brighter  morrow, 

Look  on  Me  and  live." 


Voice  of  Jesus — calling,  calling — 

"  Art  thou  still  afraid  ? 
Is  that  sin  so  fair,  so  thralling, 

Canst  not  strike  it  dead  ? 


Look  on  Me,  O  faint  believer, 
Look,  and  steadfast  be  ; 

I  have  loved  thee,  loved  for  ever, 
Leave  that  sin,  for  Me." 

Voice  of  Jesus — calling,  calling — 

"  By  the  riverside 
Linger  not,  the  night  is  falling, 

Deep  the  stream,  and  wide, 


Sacred  Lyrics.  341 


Cling,  beloved,  I  am  near  thee 
In  the  hour  of  death ; 

Call,  beloved,  I  can  hear  thee, 
Hear  thy  faintest  breath." 


Voice  of  Jesus — calling,  calling — 
"  Now  the  stream  is  past, 

Earthly  cares  and  burdens  falling, 
Thou  art  mine,  at  last." 


Kathleen  Knox. 


slmll  toipe  all  Cears  atoap, 

CCXXVIII. 


again  the  day  is  breaking, 
And  the  beams  of  early  morn 
End  a  night  of  pain  and  waking, 

To  that  sufferer  forlorn, 
Who,  through  months  of  tears  and  sorrow 

On  the  couch  of  sickness  lay, 
Wishing  he  might  go  to-morrow 
Where  all  tears  are  wiped  away. 


All  the  days  of  merry  childhood, 

In  his  fancy  passed  again, 
When  he  wandered,  'mid  the  wild  wood, 

Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  pain  ; 
All  the  joys  of  youth  bereft  him 

Came  to  memory  as  he  lay, 
And  he  felt  but  one  hope  left  him — 

"God  shall  wipe  all  tears  away." 


34 2  Sacred  Lyrics. 

Oft  he  thought  it  hard,  when  round  him 

Stood  the  loving,  kind,  and  true, 
That  the  heart-ties  here  which  bound  him 

Should  be  severed ;  but  he  knew 
Earthly  joys  are  tinged  with  sorrow, 

They  must  part  who  meet  to-day  : — 
There's  no  parting,  no  to-morrow, 

Where  all  tears  are  wiped  away. 

Time  rolls  on — the  wasting  fingers 

Of  disease  have  left  their  trace 
On  that  frame — yet  still  there  lingers 

^  Brightness  o'er  that  pallid  face  ; 
Light  that  shows  the  end  is  nearer, 

Spirit  soon  shall  spurn  the  clay, 
For  he  hears  the  whisper  clearer — 

"God  shall  wipe  thy  tears  away." 

'Mid  the  night,  as  she  who  bore  him, 

Kissed  his  wan  and  woe-worn  cheek, 
There  is  coldness  creeping  o'er  him, 

Ah  !  he  can  no  longer  speak  ; 
On  that  face  no  pang  of  dying, 

Calm  as  slumbering  there  he  lay, 
No  more  sorrow,  no  more  sighing— 

God  hath  wiped  his  tears  away. 

John  P.  MacAfee,  M.D. 


§ong  of  tfje  Pilgrim, 

CCXXIX. 

OJ'M  weary,  Oh,  I'm  weary- 
How  weary  for  "  THE  REST," 
Though  it  lay  in  pathless  forest, 
Where  the  wild  bird  builds  her  nest  • 


Sacred  Lyrics.  343 

I'd  lay  these  throbbing  temples 

On  a  cold  uncover'd  stone, 
If  only  I  might  rest  me ; 

Chill,  houseless,  and  alone. 

I'm  weary,  Oh,  how  weary  ! 

I've  toiled  till  night  is  nigh, 
And  sunset  calm  is  gilding 

The  far-off  Western  sky  : 
While  languid  eyes  are  closing, 

And  drooping  eyelids  weep, 
I,  too,  way-worn  and  weary, 

Would  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 

I'd  sleep,  where  fond  ones  slumber 

Beneath  the  smooth  green  sod, 
And  dream  with  them  of  waking, 

And  rest,  like  them,  with  God : 
Earth's  dreams  !  ye  all  are  baseless  ; 

Earth's  hopes  !  ye  all  have  fled  ; 
Earth's  joys  !  poor  vanished  visions  ; 

All,  all  around  are  dead. 

Earth's  flow'rets  !  pale  and  pining, 

Ye  waked  to  smile  and  die — 
Fain  would  I  seek  to  find  you 

Beyond  that  stilly  sky  : 
Oh  !  for  the  clime  all  cloudless, 

Oh  !  for  the  endless  day  ! 
For  there  are  hearts  that  change  not, 

There  love  knows  no  decay. 

No  pilgrim  there  sits  lonely, 

By  wayside  bleak  and  bare  ; 
Nor  blighted  hopes  and  broken, 

Nor  solitude  is  there. 
I'm  weary,  Oh  !  I'm  weary — 

Oh  !  now  to  share  His  rest ! 
Here,  once  the  "  Man  of  Sorrows," 

There,  Joy  of  all  the  Blest. 

*  Canon  Macllwaine. 


344 


Sacred  Lyrics. 

R>ope  of  t&e  ©aim, 

ccxxx. 


CITY  !  brighter  than  the  sun, 
Than  the  silver  moon  more  fair  ; 
Height,  by  saints  and  martyrs  won, 
Climbed  through  want,  and  woe,  and  care- 


Oft,  methinks,  I  see  thy  gates, 
Each  a  pearl,  of  purest  ray  ; 

Hear  the  jubilee  which  waits 
Those  who  walk  thy  golden  way  ; 


View  thy  walls,  as  crystal  clear, 

Built  with  gem  and  precious  stone  ; 

Bring  thy  vision'd  glories  near, 
Catch  the  radiance  of  thy  throne ; 


Pause  to  hear  the  central  psalm 
Rising  round  the  fount  of  love, 

Where  the  white  robe  and  the  palm 
Grace  that  host,  all  hosts  above. 


And  should  earth  come  gliding  in, 
Such  brief  moments'  bliss  to  blight — 

Strong  temptation,  dream  of  sin, 
Cloud  of  sorrow,  shade  of  night — 

Still  thy  brightness  o'er  me  shed, 

Draws  to  heaven  the  silent  prayer — 
Oh  !  the  paths  of  peace  to  tread  ! 

Least  and  lowest — only  there  ! 

*  Canon  Macllwaine. 


The  ancient  Hymns  of  the  Irish  Church,  which  are  translated  in  the 
"Lyra,"  are  here  given  in  the  original  Latin.  The  Editor  has  been 
prompted  thus  to  reprint  them  by  the  consideration  that  they  may  not 
be  very  readily  accessible  to  some  readers,  as  also  that  they  may  prove 
interesting  and  useful,  for  the  purpose  of  comparison  with  the  several 
English  versions. 


i  Patricii 


ao  Cemoriam, 


OCD    Temoriam    hodie    potentiam  praepollentem   invoco 

**'         Trinitatis, 

Credo  in  Trinitatem  sub  (177)  unitate  (TOV)  numinis  elemen- 

torum. 
Apud  Temoriam  hodie  virtutem  nativitatis  Christi  cum  ea 

ejus  baptismi, 

Virtutem  crucifixionis  cum  ea  ejus  sepulturse, 
Virtutem  resurrectionis  cum  ea  ascensionis, 
Virtutem  adventus  ad  judicium  ceternum. 
Apud  Temoriam  hodie  virtutem  amoris  Seraphim  in  obsequio 

angelorum, 

In  spe  resurrectionis  ad  adipiscendim  praemium. 
In  orationibus  nobilium  Patrum, 
In  prsedictionibus  prophetarum, 
In  prsedicationibus  apostolorum, 
In  fide  confessorum, 


346  Appendix. 

In  castitate  sanctarum  virginum, 

In  actis  justorum  virorum. 

Apud  Temoriam  hodie  potentiam  cceli, 

Lucem  sol  is, 

Candorem  nivis, 

Vim  ignis, 

Rapiditatem  fulguris, 

Velocitatem  venti, 

Profunditatem  maris, 

Stabilitatem  terrse, 

Duritiam  petrarum. 

Ad  Temoriam  hodie  potentia  Dei  me  dirigat, 

Potestas  Dei  me  conserve!, 

Sapientia  Dei  me  edoceat, 

Oculus  Dei  mihi  provideat, 

Auris  Dei  me  exaudiat, 

Verbum  Dei  me  disertum  faciat, 

Manus  Dei  me  protegat, 

Via  Dei  mihi  patefiat, 

Scutum  Dei  me  protegat, 

Exercitis  Dei  me  defendat, 

Contra  insidias  doemonum, 

Contra  illecebras  vitiorum, 

Contra  inclinationes  animi, 

Contra  omnem  hominem  qui  meditetur  injuriam  mihi, 

Procul  et  prope, 

Cum  paucis  et  cum  multis. 

Posui  circa  me  sane  (ras)  omnes,  potentias,  has 

Contra  omnem  potentiam  hostilem  saevam 

Excogitatam  meo  corpori  et  meae  animse; 

Contra  incantamenta  pseudo-vatum, 

Contra  nigras  leges  gentilitatis, 

Contra  pseudo-leges  haereseos, 

Contra  dolum  idololatriae, 

Contra  incantamenta  mulierum, 

Et  fabrorum  ferrariorum  et  dmidum, 

Contra  omnem  scientiam  quae  occoecat  animum  hominis. 

Christus  me  protegat  hodie 

Contra  venenum, 

Contra  combustionem, 


Appendix.  347 

Contra  demersionem, 

Contra  vulnera, 

Donee  meritus  essem  multum  praemii. 

Christus  (sit)  mecum, 

Christus  ante  me, 

Christus  me  pone, 

Christus  in  me, 

Christus  infra  me, 

Christus  supra  me, 

Christus  ad  dextram  meam, 

Christus  ad  laevam  meam, 

Christus  hine, 

Christus  illine, 

Christus  a  tergo. 

Christus  (sit)  in  corde  omnis  hominis  quern  alloquar, 

Christus  in  ore  cujusvis  qui  me  alloquatur, 

Christus  in  omni  oculo  qui  me  videat, 

Christus  in  omni  aure  quse  me  audiat. 

Ad  Temoriam  hodie  potentiam  praepollentem  invoco  Trini- 

tatis. 

Credo  in  Trinitatem  sub  (rrj)  Unitate  numinis  elementorum. 
Domini  est  salus, 
Domini  est  salus, 
Christi  est  salus, 
Salus  tua,  Domine,  sit  semper  nobiscum. 


Appendix. 


Sjumnus  §. 


LTUS  prositor  vetustus  dierum  et  ingenitus, 
Erat  absque  origine  primordii  et  crepidine, 
Est  et  erit  in  secula  seculorum  infinita  ; 
Cui  est  unigenitus  Christus,  et  Sanctus  Spiritus, 
Coaeternus  in  gloria  deitatis  perpetua  : 
Non  tris  Deos  depromimus  sed  unum  Deum  dicimus, 
Salva  fide  in  personis  tribus  gloriosissimis. 

*  The  original  of  this  ancient  and  justly  celebrated  Hymn,  a 
translation  of  which,  from  the  pen  of  the  late  Dr.  Todd,  slightly 
modified,  appears  at  p.  8  of  the  Lyra,  is  here  given  from  the  Liber 
Hymnorum.  For  a  full  account  of  both  the  Hymn  itself  and  Dr.  Todd's 
version,  the  reader  is  referred  to  that  publication,  and  to  the  learned 
notes  there  appended.  It  may  here  be  briefly  stated  that  the  Hymn 
was  first  printed  by  Colgan  from  an  ancient  copy,  supposed  to  be 
that  now  found  at  St.  Isidore's,  in  Rome.  The  text  printed  by  Dr. 
Todd,  and  here  reprinted,  is  chiefly  from  the  MS.  in  Trin.  Col.,  Dublin. 
Originally  the  Hymn  consisted  of  alphabetical  stanzas,  from  AtoZ.  Those 
from  O  to  X,  inclusive,  are  missing,  a  leaf  having  been  lost  from  the  Dublin 
MS.  They  have  been  supplied  by  Dr.  Todd,  from  Colgan's  copy  of  the 
Trias  Thaumaturga  ;  the  MS.  which  contains  the  Hymn,  the  Leabhar 
Breacc,  in  the  library  of  the  Royal  Irish  Academy,  being  still  more 
defective  than  that  of  Trinity  College,  all  the  stanzas  after  H  being  lost. 
The  Hymn  is  written,  as  Dr.  Todd  observes,  "  in  a  rude  Latinity." 
The  transcript  of  it,  however,  here  given,  will  prove  interesting  to  the 
student  of  Irish  antiquity.  It  is  reprinted  accurately  from  the  Liber 
Ilymnorum,  Fasciculus  ii.  p.  205.  Its  archaisms  and  orthography  are 
preserved,  and  hence  some  of  the  terms  may,  unfortunately,  be  unintel- 
ligible, at  least  without  study  and  reference  to  lexicons  of  mediaeval 
latinity,  although  the  context  will  enable  most  readers,  with  some  care, 
to  ascertain  their  meaning.  It  may  be  as  well  to  add,  that  the  title, 
"  Altus  Prosator"  (spelt  also  prositor}  is  properly  rendered  "  High 
Father"  by  Dr.  Todd.  The  latter  term  is  derived  from/  rosero,  to  bring 
forth,  beget,  and  strictly  means  creator.  The  meaning  of  this  and  other 
difficult  or  obselete  terms  is  fully  discussed  in  the  learned  notes  of  the 
publication  here  quoted,  as  already  mentioned. 


Appendix.  349 

ll&ONOS  creavit  angelos  ordines  et  archangelos 
^*   Principatuum  ac  sedium,  potestatum,  virtutium  ; 

Uti  non  esset  bonitas  otiosa  ac  majestas, 

Trinitatis  in  omnibus  largitatis  muneribus, 

Sed  haberet  celestia  in  quibus  previgilia 

Ostenderet  magnopere  possibili  fatimine. 


de  regni  apice  stationis  angelicas, 
"  Claritate  praefulgoris  venustate  speciminis, 
Superbiendo  ruerat  Lucifer,  quern  formaverat, 
Apostataeque  angeli  eodem  lapsu  lugubri  ; 
Auctoris  cenodoxiae  pervicacis  invidiae, 
Ceteris  remanentibus  in  suis  principatibus. 


magnus  deterrimus,  terribilis  et  antiquus, 
Qui  fuit  serpens  lubricus  sapientior  omnibus 
Bestiis  et  animantibus  terrae  feracioribus, 
Tertiam  partem  siderum  traxit  secum  in  barathrum 
Locorum  infernalium  diversorumque  carcerum, 
Refuga  veri  luminis  parasite  praecipites. 

/ittXCELSUS  mundi  machinam  previdens  et  armoniam 
^"'  Caelum  et  terram  fecerat,  mare  et  aquas  condidit, 
Herbarum  quoque  germina,  virgultorum  arbuscula, 
Solem,  lunam,  ac  sidera,  ignem  et  necessaria  ; 
Aves,  pisces,  et  peccora,  bestias  et  animalia, 
Hominem  demum,  regere  protoplastum  praesagmine. 


sideribus,  etheris  luminaribus, 
J'    Collaudaverunt  angeli  factura  prsemirabili 
Immensse  molis  Dominum  opincem  celestium 
Preconio  laudabile  debito  et  immobile, 
Concentuque  egregio  grates  egerunt  Domino 
Amore  et  arbitrio  non  naturae  donario. 

/tgRASSATIS  primis  duobus  seductisque  parentibus, 
^^  Secundo  ruit  Zabulus,  cum  suis  satilitibus  ; 
Quorum  horrore  vultuum  sonoque  volitantium 
Consternarentur  homines,  metu  territi  fragiles, 
Non  valentes  carnalibus  haec  intueri  visibus, 
Qui  nunc  ligantur  fascibus  ergastulorum  nexibus. 


Appendix. 

1C  sublatus  e  medio  dejectus  est  a  Domino, 
Cujus  aeris  spatium  constipatur  satilitum, 
Globo  invisibilium  turbido  perduellium, 
Ne  malis  exemplaribus  imbuti  ac  sceleribus, 
Nullis  unquam  tegentibus  septis  ac  parietibus, 
Fornicarentur  homines  palam  omnium  oculis. 

NVEHUNT  nubes  pontias  ex  fontibus  brumalias, 

Tribus  profundioribus  occiani  dodrantibus, 
Maris  celi  climatibus  ceruleis  turbinibus, 
Profuturas  segetibus,  viniis  et  germinibus, 
Agitatae  flaminibus  tesauris  emergentibus, 
Quique  paludes  marinas  evacuant  reciprocas. 

kADUCA  ac  tirannica  mundique  momentania, 
^  Regum  presenti  gloria  nutu  Dei  depossita, 
Ecce  gigantes  gemere  sub  aquis  magno  ulcere, 
Comprobantur  incendio  aduri  ac  suplicio  ; 
Cocitique  carubdibus  strangulati  turgentibus, 
Scillis  obtecti  fluctibus  eliduntur  et  scropibus. 


^T 

^ 


IGATAS  aquas  nubibus  frequenter  crebrat  Dominus, 
Ut  ne  erumpant  protinus  simul  ruptis  obicibus  ; 
Quarum  uberioribus  venis  velut  uberibus 
Pedetemtim  natantibus  telli  pertractus  istius, 
Gellidis  ac  ferventibus  diversis  in  temporibus, 
Usquam  influunt  flumina  nunquam  deficientia. 


Dei  virtutibus  appenditur  dialibus 
T     Globus  terras  et  circulus  abyssi,  magnse  inditus, 
Suffulta  Dei  iduma  omipotentis  valida, 
Columnis  velut  vectibus  eundem  sustentantibus  ; 
Promontoriis  et  rupibus  solidis  fundaminibus, 
Velut  quibusdam  bassibus  firmatis  immobilibus. 

7)ULLI  videtur  dubium  in  imis  esse  infernum, 
^   Ubi  habentur  tenebrae,  vermes,  ac  dirae  bestiae  ; 
Ubi  ignis  solphorius  ardens  flammis  edacibus, 
Ubi  rugitus  hominum  fletus  ac  stridor  dentium, 
Ubi  gehennae  gemitus,  terribilis  et  antiquus, 
Ubi  ardor  flammaticus  sitis  famisque  horridus. 


Appendix.  351 

RBEM  infra,  lit  legimus,  incolas  esse  novimus, 

Quorum  genu  prsecario  frequenter  flectit  Domino, 
Quibusque  impossibile  librum  scriptum  revolvere, 
Obsignatum  signaculis  ..........  monitis, 

Quern  idem  resignaverat,  per  quern  victor  extiterat, 
Explens  sui  praesagmina  adventus  prophetalia. 

LANTATUM  a  prohemio  Paradisum  a  Domino 

Legimus  in  Primordio  Genesis  nobilissimo. 
Cujus  ex  fonte  flumina  quatuor  sunt  manantia, 
Cujus  et  situm  florido  lignum  vitae  est  medio 
Cujus  non  cadunt  folia  gentibus  salutifera 
Cujus  inenarrabiles  deliciae  ac  fertiles. 

UIS  ad  condictum  Domini  montem  conscendit  Sinai, 

Quis  audivit  tonitrua  supra  modum  sonantia  ? 
Quis  clangorem  perstreperae  enormitatis  buccinae  ? 
Quis  quoque  vidit  fulgura  in  gyro  coruscantia  ? 
Quis  lampades  et  jacula,  saxaque  collidentia  ? 
Prseter  Israelitici  Moysen  judicern  populi  ? 

EGIS  regum  rectissimi,  prope  est  dies  Domini  ; 

Dies  irae  et  vindictae,  tenebrarum  et  nebulae  ; 
Diesque  mirabilium  tonitruorum  fortium  ; 
Dies  quoque  angustiae,  moeroris  ac  tristitiae  ; 
In  quo  cessabit  mulierum  amor  et  desiderium, 
Hominumque  contentio,  mundi  hujus  et  cupido. 

^T  ANTES  erimus  pavidi  ante  tribunal  Domini  ; 
^  Reddemusque  de  omnibus  rationem  effectibus  ; 
Videntes  quoqne  posita  ante  obtutus  crimina, 
Librosque  conscientiae  patefactos  in  facie, 
In  fletus  amarissimos  ac  singultus  erumpemus, 
Subtracta  necessaria  operandi  materia. 


primi  Archangeli  strepente  admirabilia 
Erumpent  munitissima  claustra  ac  poliandria, 
Mnndi  praesentis  frigora  hominum  liquescentia, 
Undique  conglobantibus  ad  compagines  ossibus, 
Animabus  satherialibus  eisdem  obeuntibus, 
Rursumque  redeuntibus  debitis  in  mansionibus. 


352  Appendix. 

AGATUR  ex  climatico  Orion  cceli  cardine, 

Derelicto  Virgilio  astrorum  splendissimo, 
Per  methas  Tithis  ignoti  Orientalis  circuli, 
Girans  certis  ambagibus  redit  priscis  reditibus, 
Oriens  post  biennium,  vesperugo  in  vesperum, 
Sumpta  in  proplasmatibus  tropicis  intellectibus. 

de  ccelis  Domino  descendente  altissimo, 
Praefulgebit  clarissimum  signum  crucis  et  vexillum, 
Tactisque  luminaribus  duobus  principalibus, 
Cadent  in  terram  sydera,  ut  fructis  de  ficulnea, 
Eritque  mundi  spatium,  ut  fornacis  incendium, 
Tune  in  montium  specubus  abscondent  se  exercitus. 

J0MNORUM  cantionibus  sedulo  tinnientibus, 
?-'  Tropodis  sanctis  milibus  angelorum  vernantibus, 
Quatuorque  plenissimis  animalibus  oculis, 
Cum  viginti  felicibus  quatuor  senioribus, 
Coronas  admittentibus  Agni  Dei  sub  pedibus, 
Laudatur  tribus  vicibus  Trinitas  eternalibus. 

ELUS  ignis  furibundus  consumet  adversarios 

Nolentes  Christum  credere  Deo  a  patre  venisse  : 
Nos  vero  evolabimus  et  protinus, 
Et  sic  cum  ipso  erimus  in  diversis  ordinibus, 
Dignitatum  pro  mentis  premiorum  perpetuis, 
Permansuri  in  gloria  a  seculis  in  gloria. 

Quis  potest  Deo  placere  novissimo  in  tempore 
Variatis  insignibus  veritatis  ordinibus, 
Excertis  contemptoribus  mundi  presentis  istius. 

Deum  patrem  ingenitum,  celi  et  terrse  Dominum, 
Ab  eodemque  Filium,  secula  ante  primogenitum  ; 
Deumque  Spiritum  Sanctum,  verum  unum  altissimum, 
Invoco  ab  auxillium  mihi  oportunissimum, 
Minimo  prestet  omnium  sibi  deservientium, 
Quern  angelorum  milibus  consociabit  Dominum. 


Appendix.  353 

§>ancti  dentte.* 


III. 

,ANCTI  venite, 
Christi  corpus  sumite ; 
Sanctum  bibentes 
Quo  redempti  sanguinem. 

Salvati  Christi 

Corpore  et  sanguine, 
A  quo  refecti, 
Laudes  dicamus  Deo. 

Hoc  sacramento 

Corporis  et  sanguinis, 

Omnes  exuti 

Ab  inferni  faucibus. 

Dator  salutis, 

Chfistus  filius  Dei. 
Mundum  salvavit, 
Per  crucem  et  sanguinem. 

Pro  universis 

Immolatus  Dominus, 
Ipse  Sacerdos 
Existit  et  hostia. 

Lege  preceptum 

Immolari  hostias, 
Qua  adumbrantur 
Divina  mysteria. 

Lucis  indultor 

Et  salvator  omnium, 
Praeclaram  sanctis 
Largitus  est  gratiam. 

From  the  "  Liber  Hymnorum"  Fasciculus  i.,  43. 
X 


354  Appendix. 

Accedant  omnes 

Pura  mente  creduli, 
Sumant  aeternam 
Salutis  custodiam. 

Sanctorum  custos, 

Rector  quoque  Dominus 
Vitae  perennis 
Largitur  credentibus. 

Coelestem  panem 

Dat  esurientibus, 
De  fonte  vivo 
Prebet  sitientibus. 

Alpha  et  omega 

Ipse  Christus  Dominus 
Venit,  venturus 
Judicare  homines. 


i,  pater; 


f|7)OLI,  pater,  indulgere 
'•*     Tonitrua  cum  fulgure, 
Ac  frangamur  formidine 
Hujus  atque  uridine. 
Te  timemus  terribilem 
Nullum  credentes  similem, 
Te  cuncta  canunt  carmina 
Angelorum  per  agmina. 
Teque  exultent  culmina 
Caeli  vagi  per  fulmina, 
O  Jhesu  amantissime 

*  The  two  hymns  following,  as  well  as  the  "  Altus  prosator"  are 
given  by  Colgan  in  the  "Trias  Thaumaturga,"  published  in  1647,  with 
preface  and  notes  to  each.  They  are  also  given  in  the  "  Liber  Hym- 
norum,  '  as  above. 


Appendix.  355 

O  rex  regum  rectissime. 
Benedictus  in  secula 
Recta  regens  regimina. 
Johannes  coram  domino 
Adhuc  matris  in  utero, 
Repletus  dei  gratia 
Pro  vino  atque  siccera. 
Elizabeth  et  Zacharias 
Virum  magnum  genuit, 
Johannem  baptizam 
Precursorem  domini. 
Manet  in  meo  corde 
Dei  amoris  flamma 
Ut  in  argenti  vase 
Auri  ponitur  gemma. 


3fn  te  Cbrtete. 


V. 


te  Christe  credentium 
Miserearis  omnium, 
Tu  es  deus  in  secula 
Seculorum  in  gloria. 
Deus  in  adjutorium 
Intende  laborantium, 
Ad  dolorum  remedium 
Festina  in  auxilium. 
Deus  pater  credentium, 
Deus  vita  viventium, 
Deus  deorum  omnium, 
Deus  virtus  virtutium, 
Deus  formator  omnium, 
Deus  et  judex  judicum, 
Deus  et  princeps  principum 
Elimentorum  omnium. 
Deus  opis  eximiae 
Celestis  hierusolimge, 

X    2 


356  Appendix. 

Deus  rex  regni  in  gloria, 
Deus  ipse  viventium. 
Deus  aeterni  luminis 
Deus  inenarrabilis, 
Deus  altus  amabilis 
Deus  inestimabilis. 
Deus  largus  longanimis 
Deus  doctor  docibilis, 
Deus  qui  facit  omnia 
Nova  cuncta  et  vetera. 
Dei  patris  in  nomine 
Filique  sui  prospere, 
Sancti  spiritus  utique 
Recto  vado  itenere. 
Christus  redemptor  gentium 
Christus  amator  virginum, 
Christus  fons  sapientium, 
Christus  fides  credentium. 
Christus  lorica  militum, 
Christus  creator  omnium, 
Christus  salus  viventium 
Et  vita  morientium. 
Coronavit  exercitum  nostrum 
Cum  turba  martirum, 
Christus  crucem  ascenderat, 
Christus  mundum  salvaverat. 
Christus  et  nos  redemeret, 
Christus  pro  nobis  passus  est, 
Christus  infernum  penetrat, 
Christus  cselum  ascenderat. 
Christus  cum  deo  sederat 
Ubi  nunquam  defuerat 
Gloria  haec  est  altissimo 
Deo  patri  ingenito, 
Honor  ac  summo  filio 
Unico  unigenito. 
Spirituique  obtimo 
Sancto  perfecto  sedulo, 
Amen  fiat  perpetua 
In  sempiterna  secula. 


Appendix.  357 

De  JSatttntate  Domini.* 

VI. 

2[  SOLIS  ortus  cardine, 
**"     Ad  usque  terrse  limitem, 
Christum  canamas  principem, 
Natum  Maria  Virgine. 

Beatus  auctor  saeculi 
Servile  corpus  induit, 
Ut  carne  carnem  liberans, 
Ne  perderet  quos  condidit. 

Castse  parentis  viscera 
Caelestis  intrat  gratia, 
Venter  puellae  bajulat 
Secreta  quae  non  noverat. 

Domus  pudici  pectoris 
Templum  repente  fit  Dei, 
Intacta  nesciens  virum 
Verbo  concepit  filium. 

Enixa  est  puerpera 
Quern  Gabriel  praedixerat, 
Quern  matris  alvo  gestiens 
Clausus  Johannes  senserat. 

Fceno  jacere  pertulit 
Praesepe  non  abhorruit, 
Parvoque  lacte  pastus  est, 
Per  quern  nee  ales  esurit. 

Gaudet  chorus  coelestium 
Et  angeli  canunt  Deo, 
Palamque  fit  pastoribus 
Pastor  Creator  omnium. 

For  an  English  version  of  this  Hymn  of  Sedulius,  see  the  "  Lyra, " 


358  Appendix. 

Hostis  Herodes  impie 
Christum  venire  quid  times  ? 
Non  arripit  mortalia 
Qui  regni  dat  coelestia. 

Ibant  Magi  quam  viderant 
Stellam  sequentes  praeviam, 
Lumen  requirunt  lumine, 
Deum  fatentur  munere. 

Caterva  matrum  personal, 
Collisa  deflens  pignora, 
Quorum  tyrannus  millia, 
Christo  sacravit  victima. 

Lavacra  puri  gurgitis, 
Ccelestis  agnus  attigit, 
Peccata  quae  non  detulit, 
Nos  abluendo  sustulit. 

Miraculis  dedit  fidem 
Habere  se  Deum  Patrem, 
Infirma  sanans  corpora, 
Resuscitans  cadavera. 

Novum  genus  potentiae, 
Aquae  rubescent  hydriae 
Vinumque  jussa  fundere, 
Mutavit  unda  originem. 

Orat  salutem  servulo, 
Flexus  genu  centurio, 
Credentis  ardor  plurimus, 
Extinxit  ignes  febrium. 

Petrus  per  undas  ambulat, 
Christi  levatus  dextera, 
Natura  quam  negaverat 
Fides  paravit  semitam. 


Appendix.  359 


Quarta  die  jam  fcetidus 
Vitam  recepit  Lazarus, 
Cunctisque  liber  vinculis, 
Factus  superstes  est  sibi. 

Rivos  cruoris  horridi 
Contacta  vestis  obstruit, 
Flectu  rigante  supplicis 
Arent  fluenta  sanguinis. 

Solutus  omni  corpore 
Jussus  repente  surgere, 
Suis  vicissim  gressibus. 
vehebat  lectulum. 


Tune  ille  Judas  carnifex 
Ausus  magistrum  tradere, 
Pacem  ferebat  osculo, 
Quam  non  habebat  pectore. 

Verax  datur  fallacibus, 
Pium  flagellat  impius, 
Crucique  fixus  innocens 
Conjungitur  latronibus. 

Xeromyrrham  post  Sabbatum 
Quaedam  vehebant  corpori, 
Quas  allocutus  angelus 
Vivum  sepulchre  non  tegi. 

Hymnis  venite  dulcibus 
Omnes  canamus  subditum, 
Christ!  triumpho  Tartarum, 
Qui  nos  redemit  venditus. 

Zelum  Draconis  invidit 
Atque  os  leonis  pessimi, 
Calcavit  unicus  Dei, 
Seseque  coelis  reddidit. 


360  Appendix. 


Jn  trouble  anD  in  grief,  2D  <J5oti, 

CCXXVII. 

In  trouble  and  in  grief,  O  God, 

Thy  smile  hath  cheered  my  way ; 

And  joy  hath  budded  from  each  thorn 
That  round  my  footseps  lay. 

The  hours  of  pain  have  yielded  good, 
Which  prosperous  days  refused ; 

As  herbs,  though  scentless  when  entire, 
Perfume  the  air  when  bruised. 


The  oak  strikes  deeper,  as  its  boughs 

By  furious  blasts  are  driven  ; 
So  life's  vicissitudes  the  more 

Have  fixed  my  heart  in  heaven. 

All-gracious  Lord  !  whate'er  my  lot 

At  other  times  may  be, 
I'll  welcome  still  the  heaviest  grief 

That  brings  me  near  to  Thee. 

Richard  T.  P.  Pope,  M.A. 


Itrbex  0f  JitBt  |Cints. 


PAGE 

"  Able  to  Succour"  in  the  hour...          ...  ...         ...         ...     243 

A  dream  of  many  waters.     I  beheld          . , .  ...          ...             26 

Ad  Temoriam  hodie  potentiam  praepollentem  invoco  Trinitatis  345 

Agnus  Dei !  when  the  heart  is  wtary  ...  ...         ...         ...     295 

Ah  !  Cruel  Reaper  of  the  Flowers...          ...  ...          ...             95 

All  bounteous  Lord  of  Harvest...         ...  ...         ...         ...     268 

Altus  prositor  vetustus  dierum  et  ingenitus  ...         ...           348 

A  messenger  that  stood  beside  my  bed...  ...         ...         ...       58 

Angel  of  charity,  who  from  above  ...          ...  ...         ...            277 

A  solis  ortus  cardine        ...         ...         ...  ...           ..         ...     357 

As  panting  flies  the  hunted  hind     ...          ...  ...         ...           279 

As  when  a  seeker  findeth          ...         ...  ...         ...         ...      173 

At  Tarah  to-day,  in  this  awful  hour...         ...  ...          ...               4 


Banquet  of  love  !  O  feast  divine           ...          ...         ...         ...  318 

Bear  your  cross,  Christian,  yes  bravely  bear  on    ...         ...  306 

Blest  be  the  day,  all  gracious  Lord       221 

Blest  were  the  chosen  three  ...          ...         ...         ...         ...  322 

But  how  shall  we  be  glad  ?        ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  22 

By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  59 


Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters...         ...  ...         ...         ...     335 

Children  of  the  new  creation            ...  ...         ...         ...           145 

Christ  is  born,  go  tell  the  story...          ...  ...          ...          ...     213 

Christ,  our  Sun,  on  us  arose            ...  ...         ...         ...           261 

City!  brighter  than  the  sun       ...         ...  ...          ...          ,..     344 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  and  from  on  high  ...         ...         ...           198 

Come  in,  sweet  thought,  come  in          ...  ...         ..           ...       51 

Crowned  with  thorns,  arrayed  in  purple  ...         ...         ...           235 


Day  of  ire,  woe  worth  that  day        ...         ...         ...         ...  17 

Down  from  the  mount  he  cometh         ...         ...         ...         ...     315 

Draw  nigh,  ye  holy  ones,  draw  nigh          195 


"Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust"      ...         ...         ...         ...     271 

Enthroned  and  mantled  in  a  snow-white  robe       ...         ...  103 


362  Index  of  First  Lines. 

Ere  the  lonely  power  of  night 281 

Eternal  Spirit  !  Thou  whose  wing 225 


Fair  in  their  sunny  beds  they  grew 9° 

Father,  keep  under 

For  every  sorrow  here  on  earth  ...         ...         •••         •••  334 

Forth  from  the  camp  of  Israel          67 

From  England's  gilded  halls  of  state 48 

From  out  the  cloud  of  amber  light ... 

From  sorrow's  depths  to  Thee  I  cry     ...         ...         ...         •••  84 

From  the  far  rising  of  the  sun         ...         ...         ...         ...  13 

Give  thanks  to  God,  the  Lord 228 

Give  thyself  to  Jesus' hand  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  312 

God's  Son  was  "born— a  light  arose,  and  darkness  fled  from 

earth  away    ...         ...  .  ..  ...  158 

Great  huntsman  of  the  eastern  sky,  Orion  huge  and  bright  1 50 

Great  Jehovah  !  we  will  praise  Thee    ...         ...         ...         ...  264 


Hark  !  the  sounds  of  gladness         ...         ...         ...         ...  216 

Hark!  the  voice  of  loud  lament           ...         ...         ...          ...  85 

Hark!  what  notes  of  rolling  thunder          ...         ...         ...  230 

Has  the  peace  of  God  relieved  you       ...         ...         ...          ...  126 

Heaven  ring  with  rapture    ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  197 

He  is  not  dead  but  sleepeth        ...         ...          ...  112 

High  sate  King  Edwin  in  his  hall  ...          ...          ...          ...  169 

His  impress  was  stamped  on  their  tone  and  voice      ...         ...  334 

Holy  Spirit,  love  divine       ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  260 

How  great  the  loss,  how  foul  the  stain 314 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long !      ...         ...         ...          ...  107 

How  vast  the  little  infinite,  where  march         190 


J  bind  to  myself  to-day         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  I 

I  dreamed  of  a  phantom  Christ 297 

If  there  be  power  in  song's  harmonious  meed       147 

I  have  ere  now  been  half  inclined         180 

I'm  weary,  oh,  I'm  weary 342 

In  deep  affliction's  troubled  hour           ...         ...         ...         ...  284 

Injured,  hopeless,  faint  and  weary 82 

In  te  Christe  credentium            ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  355 

Into  a  garden  at  the  dawn  of  day 330 

In  trouble  and  in  grief,  O  God 360 

In  trouble  for  my  sin  I  cried  to  God          57 

In  youthful  dignity  and  lovely  grace    ...         ...         ...         ...  37 

I  said,  "  I  will  find  God,"  and  forth  I  went         289 

Israel  on  Moreh's  steep 129 


Index  of  First  Lines.  363 

I  stood  beside  the  margin  of  a  sea         192 

I  stood  beside  yon  fountain,  where  the  sun           ...         ...  302 

I  stood  by  the  unvintageable  sea           ...         ...         ...          ...  324 

It  breathes  no  more  !  one  low  drawn  sigh            ...          ...  285 

I  would  fain  enjoy  the  sunshine            ...         ...         ...         ...  155 


Jehovah  Sabaoth       238 

Jesu,  most  loving  One,  who  from  Thy  glory's  throne  ...     262 

Jesus,  at  Thy  command        ...         ...         ...         ...          ...  212 

Jesus  drains  the  cup  of  sorrows...          ...         ...         ...  ...     214 


Learning  sat  in  a  lonely  tower        55 

Lent  marks  the  Spring,  it  is  the  spring  of  tears  ...          ...     303 

Lift  high  your  notes  ...         ...         ...           ..          ...  ...           239 

Light  of  the  lonely  pilgrim's  heart        ...         ...  ...           ..     254 

Lord,  Christ,  if  Thou  art  with  us,  and  these  eyes  . . .           290 

Lord!  ere  we  turn  us  to  repose            ...          ...  ...          ...     226 

Lord,  I  have  knelt  and  tried  to  pray  to-night       ...  ...            289 

Lord,  many  times  I  am  aweary  quite  ...         ...  ...          ...     280 

Lord,  of  Thy  mercy  hear  our  cry    ...         ...         ...  ...           247 

Lord  supreme,  in  glory  dwelling           ...         ...  ...         ...     223 

"  Lovest  thou  Me  ?"  to  him  who  wailed  his  folly...  ...           15? 


Men  walk  astray  in  ignorance  ;  or  grow  ...         ...         ...     102 

Merrily  the  minster  bells       ...         ...  ...         ...         ...           293 

Morning  cometh,  wanes  the  night        ...  ...         ...         ...     265 

My  breast  was  as  a  briary  brake     ...  ...         ...         ...             53 

My  Father,  when  I  hear  Thy  voice      ...  ...         ...         ...     257 


Nay,  come  not  thus  :  white  lilies  in  the  Spring   ...  ...           325 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled  ...          ...       54 

Noli,  pater,  indulgere           ...         ...         ...         ...  ...           354 

Now  God  suspends  its  shadowy  pall    ..           ...  ...          ...     106 

Now  I  draw  near,  alone,  apart       ...         ...         ...  ...           292 


O  brooding  Spirit  of  Wisdom  and  of  Love      ...         ...  ...     327 

O'er  heaven's  pure  arch  a  star  of  living  light         ...         ...  282 

O  for  the  robes  of  whiteness      ...         ...         ...         ...  ...     244 

O  God  of  Calvary  and  Bethlehem  ...         ...         ...         ...  329 

Oh!  if  the  atheist's  words  were  true    ...         ...         ...  ...     278 

Oh,  seek  not  that  the  world  should  know  ...         ...         ...  287 

O  Jesus  !  blessed  Saviour          ...         ...         ...         ...  ...     242 

O  King,  most  meek,  most  lowly 266 

O  King  of  wounds  !  O  Son  of  Heaven  !  who  died    ...  ...     279 

O  life,  O  death,  O  world,  O  time 25 


364  Index  of  First  Lines. 

O  Lord,  thou  knowest  all  the  snares 248 

O  man  of  sorrows,  hast  thou  given  to  me 246 

O  memory  !  O  memory             ...         ...         ...         •••         •••  74 

Once  again  the  day  is  breaking       341 

Once  in  royal  David's  city         ...  251 

O  soul,  held  prisoner  out  of  reach  ...         ...          ...         ...  77 

O  suffering  saint !  and  too  severely  tried         326 

On  summer  eves        3°4 

On  the  mountain's  top  appearing          217 

O  Thou  from  whom  no  heart  is  hidden     : 256 

O  Thou,  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear...         ...         ...         ...  274 

O  Thou,  whose  all-enlivening  ray 315 

Our  Lord  Christ  hath  risen        ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  255 

O  weary  souls,  whose  dreams  fly  fast  and  fleet     75 

O  well  lor  him  who  lives  at  ease           ...         ...         ...           ..  324 

O  wonderful  !  round  whose  birth-hour      34 

O  world  !  thou  hoary  monster,  whose  old  age            ...         ...  189 

On  yester  eve,  I  saw  at  play            ...         ..           ...         ...  190 


Pity  on  us,  heavenly  Father      236 

Praise  the  Lord,  for  He  is  gracious,  praise  the  Lord  for  He 

isjust...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  141 

Praying  to  Thee,  our  wills  do  not  require  ...         ...         ...  338 

Proud  Reason,  Science,  now  engross  the  world         ...         ...  123 


Read  me  a  tale  to-night,  my  love    ...         ...         ...         ...  79 

Rest  in  the  Lord,  blest  in  the  Lord      ...         ,..         ...         ...  294 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  O  Rahab  ...         ...         ...         ...          ...  65 

Roll  back  ye  bars  of  light          267 

Roll  on,  thou  sun,  in  glory  roll       ...         ...         ...         ...  269 


Sancti  venite  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  353 

See  the  Lamb  take  up  the  scroll  309 

See,  the  star  that  leads  the  day       ...          ..           ...         ...  207 

Seemeth  not  love  at  times  so  occupied...         ...         ...  ...       20 

Shall  I  live  till  I  am  old  ? 318 

She  was  the  fairest  of  all  things  on  earth         139 

Silent  and  sad,  deep  gazing  on  the  clay     ...         ...         ...  41 

Silent  leaf  of  autumn      ...         ...         ...         ...           ..  ...      134 

Sinful,  sighing  to  be  blest    ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  237 

Sinners  come,  by  guilt  afflicted...         ...         ...         ...  ...     231 

Spirit  of  God,  descend  upon  my  heart       ...         ...         ...  221 

Stood  the  mournful  mother  weeping    ...         ...         ...  ...     199 

Sweet  Dove,  that  homeward  winging        ...         ...         ...  277 

Swift  o'er  the  desert  plains  the  wild  wind  sweeps      ...  ...     301 


Index  of  First  Lines.  365 

Teach  us,  Almighty  Lord,  this  day            ...  ...          ...           220 

Tell  us,  thou  glorious  star  of  eve          ...         ...  ...         ...     270 

The  air  is  chill,  the  ground  is  frore            ...  ...          ...           no 

The  beam-repelling  mists  arise ...         ...         ...  ...         ...     208 

The  bird  in  the  bower          ...         ...         ...  ...          ...           311 

The  bird  let  loose  in  eastern  skies        ...         ...  ...         ...     273 

The  Christ-child  came  to  my  bed  onf  night  ..           ...           299 

The  crimson  petals  of  the  withering  day         ...  ...          ...     333 

The  Father  exalted,  ancient  of  days,  unbegotten  ...               8 

The  head  that  once  was  crowned  with  thorns...  ...         ...     215 

The  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain       ...  ...         ...           229 

The  last  faint  glimmer  of  sunset  gold  ...          ...  ...         ...       72 

The  love  of  my  heart  is  Thy  heart,  O  Saviour  dear         ...  91 

The  marvels  of  the  seas  and  earth         ...         ...  ...          ...     105 

The  noblest  songs  that  angels  sing              ...  ...         ...           232 

The  roseate  hues  of  early  dawn...          ...           ..  ...         ...     250 

Thereafter  I  beheld,  and  lo  !  in  heaven     ...  ...          ...             97 

There  is  a  bleak  desert  when  daylight  grows  weary  ...         ...     276 

There  is  a  joy  unknown  in  heaven              ...  ...         ...           233 

There  is  a  single  stone    ...          ...          ...         ...  ...          ...     299 

They  spake  to  him  of  old  who  sat  ...          ...  ...         ...             86 

They  were  simple  of  speech  and  mind  ...          ...  ..           ...       88 

Thine,  Father,  is  the  Kingdom       ...         ...  ...         ...            177 

Thou  art  gone  up  on  high          ...         ...          ...  ...          ...     248 

Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light            272 

Thou  inevitable  day         ...          ...         ...         ...  ...         ...       24 

Thou  knowest  all : — I  seek  in  vain...          ...  ...         ...           325 

Thou,  who  all  men  dost  relieve...         ...         ...  ...          ...     202 

Thou  whose  meek  eyes  are  bending  o'er  my  page  ...            191 

Through  mighty  Nineveh          .  .         ...         ...  ...          ...     167 

Thy  light  and  thy  salvation              ...         ...  ...         ...           241 

Thy  temple,  Lord,  it  nobly  stands        ...         ...  ..          ...     317 

Thy  way  is  best,  my  Father            ...         ...  ...         ...           245 

'Tis  an  angel  of  light  and  love  ...         ...          ...  ...          ...     171 

'Tis  true  I  have  out-felt  and  have  out-thought  ...          ...           328 

To  Calvary,  Lord,  in  spirit  now           ...         ...  ...         ...     253 

To  God  give  foremost  praises           ...         ...  ...         ...             50 

To  God  ye  choir  above  begin    ...          ...          ...  ...          ...     205 

'Twas  on  the  plain  of  Dura              ...         ...  ...         ...             69 

Two  lines — bright  issues  of  undying  mind       ...  ...         ...     187 


Under  an  aged  olive  by  the  sea       ...         ...         ...         ...  182 

Uplift  the  voice  of  melody,  your  choicest  numbers  bring      ...     224 
Upon  the  hill  the  prophet  stood     ...         ...         ...         ...  45 


Vainly  were  talents,  many  a  one  ...         ...         ...         ...     321 

Voice  of  Jesus,  calling,  calling        ...         ...         ...         ...  340 


366  Index  of  First  Lines. 

Waves,  waves,  waves      280 

Weary  with  my  load  of  sin  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  263 

We've  no  abiding  city  here         ...         ...          ...         ...         ..  218 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 275 

What  mean  they  standing  aloof,  the  people  who  watch  us  and 

weep?           120 

What !  weeping  ?     Had  ye  your  Christ  yesterday            . . .  290 

When  backward  on  my  actions  past     ...         ...         ..           ...  204 

When  Christ  hath  spoken  to  a  human  heart         ...         ...  338 

When  I  wander  by  the  ocean           ...         ...         ...         ...  93 

When  late  on  life's  departed  years        ...         ...         ...         ...  284 

When  low  and  selfish  is  the  life  I  lead       ..           307 

When  my  love  is  failing...         ...         ...         ...  258 

When  my  feet  have  wandered         ...         ...         ...         ...  233 

When  sorrow  appears  and  the  bosom  despaireth         ...         ...  328 

When  Truth's  dread  light  around  us  flashes          ...         ...  330 

When  the  disciples  saw  each  surging  hill         ...         ...         ...  327 

When  the  riddle  of  thy  life  darkest  seems             ...         ...  296 

When  thou  dost  meet  the  dead  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  132 

When  wounded  sore  the  stricken  heart     ...         ...         ...  249 

Where  is  the  breath  of  heaven  ...         ...         ...         ...         ...  310 

Where  is  that  garden  of  the  Lord  God  planted? 63 

Where  in  hot  winds  the  heavy  curtains  swung            ...         ...  118 

While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night    ...         ...  211 

Who  hath  not  felt  the  sacred  hours  ?    ...         ...         ...         ...  336 

Who  is  the  foe,  my  spirit  tell  ?        227 

W ho  may  tell  how  often  sorrow           ...         ...         ....         ...  305 

Why  rush  the  wild  thousands  ?        42 

Why  stand  ye  gazing,  men  of  Galilee  ?            339 

Why  was  this  forehead  finely  formed  ?       308 

With  bold  and  tireless  footsteps            ...         ...         ...         ...  175 

Within  His  house  the  God  of  love              ...  183 

With  its  measured  pause  and  its  long-drawn  wail      149 

With  kind  compassion  hear  me  cry  ?          ...         ...         ...  209 

With  tearful  eyes  I  look  around 222 

Within  the  presence-cloud  of  God 61 

Woman,  behold  thy  son 319 

Yea,  all  the  paths  of  earth  lead  up  to  Thee     332 

Yet  one  more  step— no  flight           291 

Zion's  King  shall  reign  victorio as         219 


of  Authors. 


*ALEXANDER,  Mrs.  (Cecil  Frances  Humphreys),  xxm,  xxiv,  xxv, 

xxvi,  cxxxi,  cxxxn,  cxxxin,  cxxxiv. 
*ALEXANDER,  Right  Rev.  William,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Derry ;  ix,  x, 

CLXIV, 

*ALLINGHAM,  William,  xx,  xxi,  xxn. 
*  ANDREWS,  Rev.    S.,   M.A.,   Presbyterian  Minister,    Portadown, 

CLXXXIX,  CXC,  CXCI. 

ARMSTRONG,  E.  J.,  born  at  Dublin,  July  23,  1841  ;  died  Feb.  24, 

1865  ;  XLVIII,  XLIX. 
*ARMSTRONG,  G.  F.  A.,  A.M.,  T.C.D.,  Professor  of  History  and 

English  Literature,  Queen's  College,  Cork,  L,  LI,  LII. 
*ASHE,  Isaac,  M.D.,  cxxxix,  CXL. 


*BAGOT,  Very  Rev.  Dean,  D.D.,  T.C.D.;  cxn,  cxm,  cxiv,  cxv. 
*BANCROFT,  Mrs.  (Charitie  L.  Smith),  cxxv,  cxxvi,  cxxvu. 
BLACKER,    Stewart,    Lieut. -Col.;   born   at    Carrick   Blacker,    co. 

Armagh,  1775  ;  died  same  place,  1855  '•>  cv>  CVI>  CVII>  cvin. 
*BROOKE,  Rev.  R.  S.,  D.D.,  T.C.D.,  formerly  Rector  of  Wyton, 

Diocese  Ely  ;  LXIII,  LXIV,  LXV. 
*BROWNE,  Frances,  xxxvn,  xxxvin,  xxxix. 
*BUCKLEY,   Rev.    R.    W.,  D.D.,  curate  of  St.   Peter's,   Dublin, 

LXVIII,   LXIX,  CLXXXVI,  CLXXXVII,  CLXXXVIII. 

BUTLER,  Rev.  W.  Archer,  A.M.;  born  at  Annerville,  near  Clonmel,  co. 
Tipperary,  1814;  Scholar  T.C.D..  1832;  Professor  of  Moral 
Philosophy,  1837;  Rector  of  Clondehorka,  Diocese  of  Raphoe, 
same  year;  died  July  5,  1847 ;  LXXVI,  LXXVII,  LXXVin,  LXXIX. 


CAROLAN,  O'Turlough,  last  of  Irish  bards,  born  at  Newtown,  near 
Nobber,  co.  Westmeath,  1670;  died,  1737;  CLXII. 

COLUMBA,  S.,  bom  521  ;  died  June  9,  597  ;  buried  in  lona  ;  n, 
LXXXV,  LXXXVI  ;  Appendix,  n,  iv,  v. 

*CowAN,  Rev.  W.,  Incumbent  of  Faughanvale,  Diocese  of  Derry, 
cxxi,  cxxii. 

CROLY.  Rev.  George,  LL.D.,  born  at  Dublin,  August,  1780;  Scholar, 
T.C.D.,  1798  ;  Rector  of  S.  Stephen's,  Walbrook  ;  died  Nov., 
24,  1860 ;  xin,  xiv,  ci,  en,  cm,  CL,  CLI,  CLII. 

*CusACK,  Mary  F.,  Convent  of  Poor  Clares,  Kenmare,  LXXXV, 
LXXXVI. 


368  List  of  Authors. 

DE  COURCY,  Rev.   Richard,  born,   1743;  A.B.,  T.C.D.,   1767; 

xcm. 
*DENNY,  Sir  Edward,    Bart.,   Tralee  Castle,  co.  Kerry,  cxxxv, 

CXXXVI. 

DE  VERE,  Sir  Aubrey,  Bart.,  born  May,   1807;  died  July,  1846; 

XLIII,  XLIV. 

*DE  VERE,  Aubrey,  XLV,  XLVI,  XLVII. 

*DOBBIN,  Rev.  Orlando  T.,  B.D.,  LL.D.,   T.C.D.,   M.R.I.A., 

Sutton,  co.  Dublin,  LXVI,  LXVII. 
*DOWDEN,  Edward,  M.A.,  T.C.D.,  Professor  of  English  Literature, 

T.C.D.;  CLXXI,  CLXXII,  CLXXIII,  CLXXIV,  CLXXV,  CLXXVI. 
DRENNAN,  William,  M.D.,  born  at  Belfast,   1752  ;  died,  1820  ; 

CXI. 
DREW,   Rev.  Thomas,  D.D.,  T.C.D.,  born  at  Limerick,   1800  ; 

Incumbent  of  Christ  Church,  Belfast,  1833  ;  Rector  of  Lough- 

inisland,  Diocese  of  Down,  1857  ;  died  Dublin,  1870  ;  cxcix, 

cc,  cci. 
DRUMMOND,  Wm.  H.,  D.D.,  born  at  Lame,  co.  Antrim,  August, 

1778  ;  died  at  Dublin,  October,  1865;  CIX>  cx- 

*FAUSSETT,  Mrs.  H.  (Alessie  Bond),  Edenderry  Parsonage,  Omagh, 

xxvn,  xxvui,  xxix,  xxx,  cxxin,  cxxiv. 
*FERGUSON,    Samuel,    LL.D.,   V. P. M.R.I. A.  ;    xv,  xvi,  xvn, 

XVIII. 

FOSBERY,  Rev.  Thomas  Vincent,  M.A.,  T.C.D. ;  born  at  Limerick, 
October  I,   1807  ;  died  at  Blacknell.   Berks,  Sept.   10,  1875; 

CLXXXIII,  CLXXXIV,  CLXXXV. 

FURLONG,  Thomas,  born  in  co.  Wexford,   1794  ;  died,  July  25, 
1827;  CLX. 


•GLASGOW,  Rev.  J.,  D.D.,  Professor  of  living  Oriental  Languages, 
General  Assembly's  College,  Belfast ;  cxcii,  cxcin,  cxciv, 
cxcv. 

GOLDSMITH,  Oliver,  born  at  Pallas,  co.  Longford,  1728;  died  in 
London  ;  1774,  xix,  CLXI. 


HAMILTON,  Elizabeth,  born  at  Dublin,  November  20,  1843  J 

at  Castle  Hamilton,  Killeshandra,  co.  Cavan,  December  26, 
1875  J  ccxiv,  ccxv,  ccxvi,  ccxvn,  ccxvni. 

HAMILTON,  Sir  William  Rowan,  born  at  Dublin,  August  4,  1805  ; 
Astronomer  Royal,  Ireland,  1827;  died  September  2,  1865; 
ccix,  ccx,  ccxi,  ccxn. 

*HuLL,  Rev.  J.  D.,  M.A.,  T.C.D.,  Vicar  of  Wickhambrook, 
Suffolk;  cxx. 


JEBB,  Rev.  John,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Limerick,  born  September  27, 
1775  ;  died  December  7,  1832;  cxcvii. 


List  of  Authors.  369 

KELLY,  Rev.  Thomas,  born  Dublin,  July  13,  1769;  died  Dublin, 
May  14.  1855  ;  xciv,  xcv,  xcvi,  xcvn,  xcvin,  xcix,  c. 

KIRCHHOFFER,  Julia"  G.  M.,  born  at  Bally vourney  Glebe,  co.  Cork, 
June  i,  1855;  died  January  29,  1878;  ccxix,  ccxx,  CCXXI, 
CCXXII. 

*KNOX,  Kathleen,  Sydenham  Park,  Belfast,  CCXXVI. 


*LITTLEDALE,  Rev.  R.  F.,  LL.D.,  ex-Scholar,  T.C.D  ;  CXLII, 
CXLIII. 

MACAFEE,  John  P.,  M.D.,  son  of  Rev.  David  MacAfee,  Wesleyan 
Minister  ;  died  after  voyage  to  Melbourne,  at  Port  Philip, 
May  16,  1859  ;  ccxxvm. 

•MACCARTHY,  Denis  Florence,  M.R.I.  A.,  XL,  XLI,  LXXXI,  LXXXII, 

LXXXIII. 

*MACCARTHY,  Mary  Stanislas,  XLII. 
*MAC!LWAINE,  Rev.  William,  D.D.,  ex-Scholar T.C.D.,  M.R. I.  A., 

Rector  of  St.  George's,  Belfast,  Canon  of  S.  Patrick's,  Dublin  ; 

III,  IV,  LXXX,  CXLVI,  CXLVII,  CXLVIII,  CXLIX,  CCXXIX,  CCXXX. 

MANGAN,  James  Clarence,  born  at  Dublin,  1803  ;  died  1849  ;  !• 
'MARTIN,    Rev.   J.    H.,    LL.D.,    ex-Scholar    T.C.D.,    Belfast; 

ecu,  CCIIL 
MASSEREENE  and  FERRARD,  Lord  Viscount,  born  November  30, 

1812  ;  died  April  28,  1868  ;  LIX,  LX. 

•M'CuLLAGH,  Rev.  Thomas,  Wesleyan  Minister  ;  LXX,  LXXI. 
MONSELL,  Rev.  J.  S.  B.,   LL.D.,  T.C.D.,  born  at  Londonderry, 

1811  ;  Rector  of  S.  Nicholas',  Guildford,  Surrey;  died  1875  ; 

LV,    LVI,  LVII,    LVIII,  LXXXIV,  CXVI,  CXVII,  CXVIII,  CXIX. 

MOORE,  Thomas,  born  at  Dublin,  1780;    died  1852;  CLIII,  CLIV, 

CLV,  CLVI,  CLVII,  CLVIII,  CLIX. 

*MURPHY,  Joseph  John,  Old  Forge,  Belfast,  LXXII,  LXXIII,  LXXIV, 
cxxxvin. 


*O'NEILL,  Rev.  Lord,  Baron,  ex-Scholar  T.C.D. ,  Shane's  Castle, 

co.  Antrim ;  cxcvi. 
OULTON,  Rev.  Abraham,  A.B.,  T.C.D.,  born  at  Dublin,  1816; 

Curate  of  St.  Anne's  Chapel  of  Ease,  Belfast  ;  died  June  4, 

1848 ;  ccxni. 

PARNELL,  Thomas,  D.D.,  Ven.  Archdeacon  of  Clogher;  born  1679  ; 

died  July,  1717  ;  LXXXIX,  xc,  xci. 
PATRICK,  S.,  Apostle  of  Ireland,  born  372  ;  died  March  17,  466; 

I.     Appendix,  I. 

*PLUNKET,  Right  Rev.  Lord,  Bishop  of  Meath  ;  LXXV,  cxxxvu. 
POPE,  Rev.  Richard  Thomas  Pembroke,  A.B. ;  born  at  Cork,  March, 

I3»  J799  ;  died  at  Kingstown,  near  Dublin,  February  7,  1859; 

ccxxvii,  on  p.  360. 


370  List  of  Authors. 

ROBINSON,  George  Wade,  Congregational  Minister,  born  at  Cork, 
1838  ;  died  at  Southampton,  January  23,  1877  '•>  CXLIV. 


SEDULIUS,  Coelius,  A.D.  434;  iv.     Appendix,  vi. 
SKELTON,    Rev.    Philip,    born  at   Derriaghy,    near  Lisburn,  co. 
Antrim,    1707;  Scholar  T.C.D.,    1726;  died  May  4,    1787; 

LXXXVII,  LXXXVIII. 

*STEWART,  Rev.  J.  A.,  M.A.,  T.C.D.,  Incumbent  of  Clooney, 

Diocese  of  Derry,  cciv. 
*  STOKES,  Rev.  H.  G.,  M.A.,  Incumbent  of  Ardcolm,  Diocese  of 

Ferns;  LIII,  LIV. 
STUART,  James,  LL.D.,  born  1780  ;  died  at  Belfast,  1853  ;  CLXV, 

CLXVI. 


TATE,  Nahum,  D.D.,  T.C.D.,  born  at  Dublin,  1682  ;  died  1715  ; 

xcn. 
TIGHE,  Mrs.  (Mary  Blashford),  author  of  "Psyche;"  born,  1773; 

died,  1810;  xxxiv,  xxxv,  xxxvi. 

*TODHUNTER,  John,  M.D.,  CLXXX,  CLXXXI,  CLXXXII. 

*TOKE,  Mrs.  (Emma  Leslie),  cxxvni,  cxxix,  cxxx. 

•TRENCH,  Richard  Chenevix,  D.D.,  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  V,  VI, 

VII,  VIII,  CLXIII. 


•WALLER,    John    Francis,    LL.D.,    T.C.D.,    M.R.I.A.,    CXLI, 

CLXXVII,  CLXVIII,  CLXXIX. 

•WALSH,    Very   Rev.   W.    Pakenham,   D.D.,    T.C.D.,    Dean  of 

Cashel ;  cxcvin. 
•WEST,  Elizabeth  Dickinson,  S.  Patrick's  Deanery,  Dublin;  ccxxiil, 

ccxxiv,  ccxxv. 
WHITE,  Rev.  Hugh,  Curate  of  St.  Mary's,  Dublin  ;  died  1840; 

•WHITE,  Rev.  John,  Congregational  Minister,  Belfast ;  CXLV. 

•WILDE,  Lady,  xxxi,  xxxn,  xxxni. 

•WiLDE,  Oscar,  ex-Scholar  T.C.D.,  Magdalen  College,  Oxford; 

CCV,  CCVI,  CCVII,  CCVIII. 

WILLS,  Rev.  James,  D.D.,  T.C.D.,  born,  January  i,  1790;  died 

NOV.,    1868;    LXI,  LXII,  CLXVII,  CLXVIII. 

•WILLS,  Mrs.  (Katharine  Elizabeth  Gorman),  CLXIX,  CLXX. 
WOLFE,  Rev.  Charles,  A.B.,  T.C.D.;  born  at  Dublin,  1791  ;  Sch. 
T.C.D.,  1812;  died,  1821;  xi,  xii. 


rtf    I  I  7(J5